A Quiet Place
by elleyouseewhy
Summary: Hearing the dead is far from peaceful, especially if the person you hear happens to be a particularly obnoxious red-headed spirit who won't rest until he sees his brother smile again. Fred isn't going quietly and- despite having quite enough demons of her own- Annie can't help but listen.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: _Hello! This is my first Potter fanfic and I don't mind telling you that I am a tad nervous about publishing it...! Hopefully you'll enjoy the concept and my woeful attempts to do JK. Rowling's fabulous world and characters some sort of justice. Feedback much appreciated! ;) **

**This part is just a little taster/introduction, but I hopes you like it.**

** Lx. ****(Oh and title credits go to a very old, very wonderful, very very dear friend of mine- Pixie, eeeek and snoggy snoggy mwah!)**

Chapter 1- The Lost for the Found

He was an orphan. To himself he seemed like one, looked like one. He was spending a large majority of his time in front of mirrors these days, so was perfectly positioned to watch his features as they grew thinner and paler like the pinched, grubby faces of those sad, abandoned children. Then there were his eyes; bloodshot from lack of sleep but bright and round, staring transfixed upon his own reflection. Again and again he searched his own face for some trace of his twin, but found none. It was only his face now, his own freckled features; they no longer shared _their_ face.

Most of all it was his eyes that made him an orphan. They looked so empty, so lost… so desperate. He began to wonder if he would actually resemble his twin anymore- aside from the obvious missing ear on his part, and the slowly disintegrating, rotting flesh of his twins'…

He gagged. In his haste to get to the toilet bowl, his sleeve snagged on the mirror and pulled it from its hangings, so that at the same moment that he bent and retched to the bottom of his scarcely full stomach, the mirror smashed against the bathroom tiles, sending large, deadly shards skittering across the floor.

When his family came running at the sound, it was to find George curled into a tight ball- his long, lanky body somehow managing to squeeze within the miniscule gap between the toilet and the sink- rocking gently backwards and forwards, whimpering softly to himself. He was still looking at the mirror, the fragments of his face reflected back to him somehow more poignant than he could ever put into words.

With a hasty wave of his wand, Ron fixed the mirror- the pieces flying together and sealing themselves to form one smooth surface again.

"You see, George," his sister, Ginny, knelt cautiously beside him, trying to conjure up her own encouraging smile, "The mirror's all fixed now. There's no harm done."

George looked at her for a long time, his trembling lips pressed tightly together.

"But it's 7 years, Ginny," He said eventually, raising his wide, orphaned eyes to meet her lukewarm, brown ones. "7 years where I'll have bad luck… and 7 years where Fred won't be there to help me… make me laugh… because in 7 years time… Fred will still be gone. And I'll still be here. Fred's gone… and I-I-I'm still…here…7 years, Gin…"

Still shaking, still damp from the mildewed floor, George pulled himself up and walked out of the room, leaving his younger siblings with nothing but the repaired mirror and the reflection of the back of his being.

Hundreds of miles away, in a small flat in North London, an actual orphan was also examining her reflection in her bathroom mirror. She too, had noticed the changes in her face since the battle at Hogwarts; the evidence of the small, indelible scars of both the mental and physical variety. All traces of puppy fat had gone, as had the dimple in her left cheek when she smiled, (not that there was an awful lot of cause for that kind of behavior these days anyway) and had left behind what was undeniably the sculpted face of an adult. A woman.

Shame she still had to deal with her hopeless hair, though… And if she had actually 'become a woman' now, some proper cleavage wouldn't go a miss either…

A slightly transparent, yet still undeniably red-maned head bobbed up beside her, it's expression irrefutably bored.

"Look, as much as I appreciate and soundly applaud the effort you're making for my brother, he's really not that fussy. His attractiveness test goes something along the lines of 'How many heads does she have?' and if the answer is 'only one', as in your case, then you're in for a fighting chance. I always was the one with the taste."

"I'm not making an effort for anyone, especially if that particular 'anyone' is an identical replica of _you_," She sighed and gave up trying to squash her stupid blonde curls into some sort of submission, "and if he's anything as much as a pain in the backside as you are, I am turning around and coming straight back here…you understand?"

"Well, I can't make any promises…"

The slightly odd pair- a gangling, ginger, indisputably solid yet still peculiarly translucent figure and the equally gangly, young blonde witch- stationed themselves by the fireplace.

"…He is grief-stricken, after all."

She grimaced. "This really isn't going to be much fun, is it?"

"Oh, sorry Miss walking-and-talking-and-breathing are we about to have a debate about whose life sucks more? Oops, wait. I don't have a life. Being dead will do that to you, though I'm not denying it sometimes has it's-"

"Shut up, Fred." Heaving another heavy sigh (which she had found herself doing increasingly since Fred had entered her company), she took up and handful of glittering powder and threw it into the empty grate. Stepping in with her ever-present floating companion by her side, she shouted loudly and clearly, "Ottery St. Catchpole!"

And in a _whoosh _of green flames, they were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Sorry the second part took a little while to get out, but I wanted to make sure it was long and decent after the little introductory first part :) Hope you enjoy! (Incidentally, I was very pleased that some of you have subscribed- thanks so much!) I have biiiiiig plans for this story, so stay tuned... and reviews always appreciated! **_

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 2- Broken and whole<span>**

The small Devonshire village of Ottery St. Catchpole was, for the most part, exceptionally normal. The sun rose and set each day on a community that went to Church on Sundays, read the local newspaper in the mornings and shopped at small, local convenience stores in between times. Residents kept small allotments, were all of the center-to-left-wing political sympathy and had outstandingly well-organized sock drawers, so as to not be found in the frankly embarrassing spectacle of wearing one navy and one black sock.

Yes, everything was exceptionally normal… until people started dying and disappearing. It had all begun with the young Diggory lad, almost 4 years back, whom they were told had been involved in a paragliding accident at that mysterious private school he attended. A few people remarked that it was a tragic loss, many more said that he had been a charming and good-looking boy, but a large majority reserved a small tut at the frivolous, dangerous activities he had so clearly been involved in. Nevertheless, a small church service was held in his memory- for which his parents said they were very grateful, but did not themselves attend- and life in the village carried on as normal.

Until, of course, the Fawcett's all mysteriously vanished in the night, a little over a year after Diggory's death. The pretty cottage that had been the home of the Fawcett family since the 17th Century was found one morning with its door hanging open and no trace of Mr Fawcett senior, Mrs Fawcett or their teenaged daughter Suzanna, though all of their belongings appeared untouched. The neighbors were dumbfounded, the cottage soon re-sold…

But not before there was another disappearance. This time it was Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter who vanished, but this was somehow more serious. He would often be found, wandering the streets at twilight muttering to himself, or else whimpering the name of his daughter while an unrecognizable alcoholic aroma, reminiscent of herbs, wafted off him in suffocating waves. He claimed that she had gone to stay with relatives, but there had been much talk in the village at the time that she had perhaps run off with someone, or- the feverish air of gossip gasped- had had someone run off with _her_. It was all very bizarre…

And now there was that Weasley boy. One of the twins that used to perform card tricks in the paper shop, flirting with all and sundry… Well, at the time he had been quite undesirable but _now _it was quite the tragic loss. Another accident up at that very same private school Diggory had attended. Gas explosion, apparently. And now his one-eared twin wandered the streets of the village much in the same way that Mr Lovegood had; aimlessly and smelling like a brewery… smelling like The Leathern Bottle Inn, to be more precise.

This much Leanne had managed to gather from the large, wire-haired, middle-aged lady from whom she was renting a flat above the village paper shop.

Pausing at the end of her morbid monologue, the woman added, "You get some funny folk around here…and you'll nearly always find them at The Leathern Bottle." The old woman hushed her voice, as if worried the neighbors might here her, "Eccentric types, you know the sort. Most of us try to avoid it… But don't let me put you off stayin', Miss…?"

"Merrick." Leanne smiled warmly back at her, ignoring Fred's exaggerated yawn from his position sprawled across the sofa. "I'm not planning to stay long-"

Fred popped his head up over the sofa's back to glare, a deep scowl across his pearly features. "Oi! You'll stay as long as I say we're staying!"

"-and I'm sure I'll like the village just fine."

The landlady beamed at me. "Well it really is wonderful to see a young person so enthusiastic about the English countryside. I know how most youngsters are these days, drinking and…fornicating," she shuddered, whilst Fred snickered, "But if you like the quiet life, I'm sure you will fit in just fine."

"Oh trust me," Leanne said, surreptitiously sending Fred a middle finger from behind her back, "The quiet life is _just _what I'm after."

Fred carried on sniggering as the older woman left.

Leanne rounded on him the moment she'd gone, her eyes vicious slits. "You've got to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Fred asked innocently, raising his eyebrows and flopping back down on the sofa. "Let a dead man have a little light relief at the expense of someone who has probably never 'fornicated' in her long, lonely life, eh?"

"You've got to stop interrupting me when I'm having conversations with other people. I look mad enough as it is without the periodical pauses where I have to forcibly restrain myself from strangling you."

Fred pretended to look wounded. "Try and be a little bit sensitive with the murdering vocabulary, please? I'm traumatized enough as it is."

"Traumatized my arse." Leanne flung herself down upon the threadbare armchair by the fire, flinging a crinoline cushion from it's seat with a look of intense disgust. "Last I heard, there wasn't a ward in St. Mungo's for dead-and-yet-still-extremely-obnoxious-itis but then again, I don't suppose it's one of those mental things you can really cure as such… just offer those closest to the sufferer counseling or an easy way out."

"And again with the dead jokes," Fred sighed dramatically, flinging an arm across his forehead. "Trust me to pick a medium with about as much subtlety as a cave troll's fart."

Leanne shook her head dismissively, closing her eyes against the pounding that was building in her temples. She had been getting headaches a lot recently, though whether this was due to the discovery of psychic abilities she never realized she had or the never-ceasing stream of chatter that came from the subject of her new mystical powers, she was unsure.

Fred peeked out at his resting companion from under his elbow. "You're not asleep are you?"

"Yes."

"Well make yourself lively, we've got business to attend to at that pub."

Her eyes flew open again, ready to fire back a scathing retort, but she stopped short at the look in her companions' misty eyes. His expression was resolute, nervous, uncertain and yet undeniably eager; it was clear that he was desperate to see his twin again. Feeling something in her lose all its resolve, Leanne sighed.

_Five mintues_, Leanne thought longingly to herself, as she conceded to roll out of the chair and put on her coat, _Just give me five minutes of peace…_

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><p>The Leathern Bottle was situated on the very outskirts of the town; a small, somewhat shabby looking place whose rusting sign creaked ominously in the non-existent breeze. It was however, unmistakably, a wizard's pub and the outside thus clearly designed to put-off any adventurous villagers, for inside there was roaring fireplace and warm, tapestry-covered walls reminiscent of days spent in the common rooms at Hogwarts.<p>

Leanne perched on a wooden stool at the bar and watched as the motley collection of witches and wizards, goblins and fey, came and went. It was busy in there, and even with the combined efforts of Fred, it took quite some time before they found George.

He sat alone in a secluded booth, in the shadows just behind the jutting fireplace. Every now and again the flames would flicker and reflect back into his hair; a blistering matchstick in the dark. But there was no mistaking the way the shadows highlighted the hollows under his cheeks and blurred with the heavy bags he carried under his eyes and across his slumped shoulders. Leanne glanced between this figure and the ghostly, yet undeniably still more healthy-looking version of the twins that was pushing excitedly through the crowd ahead of her, anxious to get close to his brother… If possible, she felt another tiny fragment of her remaining heart wither and snap. This was going to be beyond difficult.

"Blimey. I always said I was the better-looking one, but you'd think a bit of deathly pallor would have changed all that…" Fred peered closely into his twins' face, George looking straight through him in return. Straightening up, a concerned frown creasing his features, Fred turned to Leanne, who was still picking her way past a particularly rowdy group of Warlocks. "Do you think he's…y'know…alright?"

As Leanne approached, she noticed how George was staring at a fixed point on the scarred, stained wooden table in front of him. Collected around his hands were a series of tumblers and glasses and every now and again his fingers would twitch towards one, before realizing it was empty. He did not appear distraught, or angry, or anything that Leanne might have expected- he was just empty. Unmoving. Cold as marble. It was somehow a thousand times worse than tears or shouting ever could have been. She didn't answer Fred's question.

Leanne placed a tumbler full of amber liquid down by George's right hand. Swallowing and forcing herself to smile, she said, "It's Firewhiskey. Fre- I mean…someone told me it was your favorite."

It soon became clear that Leanne could have offered him a pint of goblin piss for all George cared; without looking at her, breaking his gaze with the table, or acknowledging her presence at all, he picked up the beaker and drained it in one, setting it back gently to it's original position.

"Impressive." Fred commented quietly.

Leanne cleared her throat, still trying to keep that smile in place. "Do you mind if I join you?"

He remained silent. She sat anyway.

"My name's Leanne. You can call me Annie, though."

"How come he gets to give you a nickname?" Fred piped up indignantly, sliding into the booth next to her. "That's favoritism that is."

Leanne tried to shoot him a look without being too obvious. Not that it mattered much; George was still refusing to engage in anything other than the table.

"And you're George, aren't you? George Weasley? I was at Hogwarts too you know; that's how I recognized you."

A soft snort emanated from under the shaggy, overgrown depths of his hair.

Leanne was undeterred, however. "You and your brother once tricked me and my friends into buying a 'guaranteed spot banisher' which actually just created them… then when we came to complain to you the next day, covered in these great big purple and orange boils, you refused to give us the antidote until two of us agreed to go on a date with the pair of you…"

It worked. George looked up. Leanne was startled by the intensity of his blue eyes- she could tell that Fred's eyes were blue, obviously, but the life that fizzled and burned behind George's made them just that much brighter.

He, in turn, quickly examined the girl in front of him; with her fluffy blonde curls, large eyes and gently angular features, she was undeniably quite pretty… but still completely unfamiliar to him. He shook his head and dropped his gaze back to the table. "Sounds like us," He spoke so softly that Leanne found herself bent almost completely in double, leaning across the table to hear him. "We always were popular with the ladies."

"That's debatable." Leanne said, before she could stop herself.

Perhaps it was just a trick of the flickering firelight, or the way she blinked, but at her words, Leanne thought she saw a small tiny ghost of a smile flutter across George's lips. Before she could examine it too closely however, it had gone; replaced again with that small, hard line of impenetrable marble.

Fred gave a tiny cough and nudged her hard in the ribs, muttering, "Stop with the small talk and get down to it!"

She swatted him away, but at a loss of what to say next, decided to take the plunge anyway. "I…um…was sorry to hear about your brother. Fred, I mean."

There was no response.

"When… when he first told me about how he wanted to come and find you, I was a bit dubious- y'know, didn't want to open any old wounds or that… but I guess as you're…" her voice faltered as she was forcibly reminded of the presence of the glasses on the table, "Doing just fine, I can tell you… He's here George. Right now. Fred's sitting with us… and he can hear you and see you and he's come back here for you to…_we've_ come back here, to-to help you."

Far from having the effect of interesting George, or even provoking some kind of emotional response in him, Leanne found herself again confronted with a statue. The only indication that he had heard her at all was a very slight inclination of his head in the direction of his one remaining ear.

"I know it sounds mad," Leanne's speech came out in a rush, as she attempted to hold his attention. "But I'm telling the truth. Fred won't stop talking about you and, unfortunately, it seems the job has fallen to me to listen to him."

George's eyes snapped up to meet hers again. "If he's really there, then you can tell me this; which of our voices broke first?"

Leanne looked wildly around at Fred, who raised his eyebrows at her incredulously. "Mine of course, I'm the eldest!"

"Ummm…he says it was his?"

A peculiar expression stole across George's face at her words. He leaned slowly across the table, his eyes narrowed and peering deeply into her own; she resisted the urge to flinch away, holding herself still so as to keep his gaze and letting his sweet, alcohol scented breath tickle her face. After what felt like a long few hours of examination, George pulled back slightly, apparently disappointed.

"Who sent you to talk to me? Was it Percy? Or Mum?"

"Neither. As I said, it was Fred who-"

"It couldn't be Ron, anyway. He might look like a bit of a prat, but he's not easily fooled…" George stood up, swaying slightly as he struggled to fasten the toggles of his Muggle coat. "There's been a lot of it about… people trying to cash in on the survivors grief- as a business man myself, I can't fault you on style… But the underlying moral's are a but off, even by my low standards."

He made to leave but Fred growled with agitation and threw his hands up in the air. "Alright, alright! I lied!"

"WAIT!" Leanne grabbed the sleeve of George's coat.

"George's voice broke first, about 4 months before mine did. I was so embarrassed that he'd beaten me that I walked around sounding like I had a particularly nasty case of throat scrofungulus, trying to copy him. I wasn't about to admit that in front of the lady, though. Stupid git."

Leanne paraphrased this back to George, "…but he says he didn't want to say that in front of the lady, and that you're a stupid git for making him admit the truth."

George paused, turning back to Leanne with that still same air of suspicion, but by the light of the fire she saw the doubt creeping in, causing the small frown lines that had appeared between his eyebrows.

"Look, we don't have to say anything else right now," Leanne hastily pulled a crumpled shopping receipt and a pencil out of her pocket and scribbled down her new address. "I'm staying in the village, why don't you come over tomorrow? I can offer you tea… and perhaps, if you're lucky, a biscuit or two. If you're very lucky, you might even get a microwave meal out of it."

It was only when she extended the hand with the paper in it that she realized she was nervous enough to be shaking. George took the paper and glanced down at it, turning the thin white rectangle over in his fingers before mumbling something Annie didn't quite catch, and losing himself among the increasingly merry crowd of the heaving pub.

She slumped back in her seat and passed her still-trembling hands over her face. Step one was completed, but it was very clear to her that she had a long way to go before she would be able to make George 'normal' enough to satisfy Fred's wishes.

"I think that went quite well… aside from my little lying balls-up," Fred stretched out luxuriously against the leather-covered headboard. "He seems to like you at any rate."

"'Like' me?" Annie scoffed, "If that's how he's always been with girls, it's no wonder you had to blackmail us all into going on dates with you…"

Fred was grinning. "But that's exactly the point! You said it yourself… We're not ones for compliments and careful flattery; incase you haven't noticed, we need someone with enough guts and intellect to bring us back down to earth from time to time."

She looked at him questioningly, but was spared the opportunity to question his statement further by the ringing of the last orders bell.

"Come on," Fred sprung to his feet, unaccountably happy with himself, "It's bedtime… " he started weaving away from her again, but not before turning back and winking cheekily, "And before you start thinking that I might have just complimented you in some way, I should probably remind you that you need _all _the beauty sleep you can get for tomorrow, my dear…"


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: This is a longgggg ol' filling part, with a bit of sentimental business. Hope i've done it okay! It might seem slow paced at the minute, but things will pick up soon :) I must also thank Pixie (possibly the only person still reading this...) and will say publicly that for her help I owe her that key-ring and/or jumper. I'D LOVE SOME REVIEWS!_**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3- Living and Life<strong>

With an almighty grunt, Leanne dumped the plastic shopping bag on the table, flexing her fingers which had cramped up into claws around the thin handles, her cheeks flushed both with the exertion of heaving the thing up an unreasonably slim set of rickety stairs to the flat and from the stress and fluster that the approaching arrival of Fred's twin was bringing.

"The recipe said that you could serve either baked yam or pumpkin on the side… but I didn't know what a yam was and they didn't have any in that pathetic excuse for a supermarket down the road anyway, and there wasn't any pumpkin left either," Leanne heaved a breath before continuing her rant, "So I doubled up on normal potatoes and bought some sweet potatoes too because they sort of taste like pumpkin…don't they?"

Fred peered over her shoulder at the limp and stained recipe sheet on the counter. "So tonight's delicious and nutritional meal will consist of a vegetable and potato curry with sweet potato and…potato. Mmmmm."

"They also didn't have any crème fraiche, so I bought buttermilk instead." Leanne ran a hand distractedly through her untamed curls. "Because I figured, well they're a similar consistency even if they taste completely different, and in a recipe like this, creams are only going to act as a thickener…"

"You know, I don't often say this," Fred placed a hand on Annie's shoulder and looked into her desperate, frantic expression with his own falsely sincere one. "But tonight, more than ever before, I really wish I was George. No really, really! With the prospect of that menu I am so terribly, terribly upset that I no longer have a functioning stomach… nor indeed, any functioning part of a digestive system at all. But then again, perhaps that would be an advantage in this case…"

Leanne swatted his hand away, scowling. "Would it kill you to reign in the sarcasm every now and again?"

"Because that's funny, bringing up the murder thing again," Fred stuck his nose haughtily in the air and leant against the counter with his arms folded. "There's more to me than my being dead you know."

"Oh, you mean apart from the fact that the only reason you speak to me at all is because you are _dead,_ the reason we are currently here being because you are _dead_ and the reason I am trying to cook for a complete stranger also because you are ali- nope, sorry, my mistake- _dead_…"

The continued sounds of the pairs' bickering echoed eerily through the dated décor of the flat; passing lazily over the oversized, doily-laden sofa, around the painted faux-brass chandelier, grazing the geometric patterned and tasseled rug, past the door to the pink and green tiled bathroom and into the lurid turquoise and purple floral papered hallway. From here, the noise continued its journey underneath the battered front door with it's spy hole and nailed, redundant cat flap and spiraled down the rickety old staircase where a man stood, hovering in his indecision, a small white rectangle turning over and over agitatedly in his hands.

George checked the address, scrawled in slanting, looping handwriting, against the number and name labeled on the wall for the umpteenth time. Every time he picked up enough courage to take the definitive step forwards and ascend the stairs, he found his eyes flick back to the piece of paper in his hands, where the memories of him acquiring it promptly filled him with doubt again.

It was the opportunity he had dreamt about for almost 7 months- sitting by the window in the bedroom they had shared since they were born, watching as riots of flowers broke out in the Burrow's garden in the summer and slowly curled in on themselves again through the autumn, fighting back the howls of misery that rattled around his being like the wind through his window as winter descended… he'd have to be mad to pass this up. If he was in his right mind, he should be bounding up those stairs and dragging that poor girl into his arms, thanking her over and over for bringing his brother back to him.

But now, faced with the chance to actually say something to Fred, all the words in his wide (and often colourful) vocabulary left him. 'Sorry' didn't feel right, 'I miss you' was insufficient, 'I love you' didn't even _begin_ to cover it- even 'Thank you' was far too formal and cold and clinical. He'd never sincerely thanked his brother in the whole 20 years he'd known him. There had never been any need.

"Thank you." George practiced like a Shakespearean actor, pacing in the cramped space of the stairwell. "Thank _you. Thank _you…"

Meanwhile, the bickering continued upstairs.

"- this is a circular argument, Fred. A dead end."

"That was terrible," Fred pulled a face, shaking his head in apparent despair. "Last time I heard a pun as bad as that it was about a saint and a missing ear."

"Really? You know, you're a bit eerie if you ask me."

"Shut up." He sighed, but was smiling all the same. The smile grew broader in the next second, his head whipping around in the direction of the door. Fred, neither gliding nor really walking, made quickly out of the kitchen and towards the front door. "He's here!"

"Huh?" Leanne, who had been splitting her concentration between remembering every ghost-related pun she could and unpacking her shopping, leaned out of the kitchen door to see Fred hopping excitedly from foot to foot, peering through the spy hole.

"George's coming! Open the door!"

"Oh Merlin! I haven't even done my hair yet, let me just-"

"NOW!" The usually placid spirit glared commandingly at his companion.

Challenging his gaze for only a split second, Annie gave in. Stomping towards the door, she shot back, "Fine. But you just spook when you're spooken to, yeah?"

Unlatching the chain, Annie pulled the door towards her as a fist clutching a white rectangle sailed through the air to knock upon it. An awkward pause followed, with George's arm hanging ridiculously and semi-supported in mid-air, both parties uncertain of how to proceed.

"Uhhmm…" George coughed lightly and lowered his arm. The girl in front of him seemed flustered, the skin across the top of her cheek bones was flushed and her hair was sticking up on one side, as if she'd been running her fingers through it. He found that he couldn't really concentrate on the girl though; in a desperate attempt to see his brother for himself, he squinted his eyes and was scanning the space around and behind Leanne's tall frame.

Fred stepped smartly past Leanne with his invisible hand extended, a serious expression on his face. "George! Delightful! How do you boo?"

It worked. Leanne laughed while George merely looked confused, his eyes still roaming, unknowingly passing repeatedly through the face of his brother whose spectral nose was just millimeters away from his own. "Sorry," Annie beamed and waved George in, "Fred just made a joke… a bad joke, I'd like to add, which is sort of a running theme with him… Come on. Back inside, you ghostly fool." She addressed the air slightly to George's right side and he whipped around, his eyes narrowed further.

"I don't think you'll be able to see him," Annie said quietly, comfortingly. "I'm the only person who gets that special privilege." George gave a non-committal grunt and followed Leanne cautiously into the kitchen, while she continued to chat rapidly over her shoulder. "I'm glad you came after all, I thought that maybe you'd…. but never mind, you're here now! I haven't started on dinner yet though, so you'll have to go hungry for a bit longer I'm afraid. Fred says that you'd have been better off eating something of your Mother's before you came over and vanishing my offerings when I'm not looking, but what does he know, eh?"

"I'm not fussy," George still spoke in the same slightly leaden tone that Leanne had encountered from him last night. He was at least sober, however, which gave Annie some hope. "But I was promised a cup of tea and a biscuit; I'd hate to be disappointed."

Leanne drew her wand and flicked it at the kettle, which began whistling almost instantly. Pulling some mugs down from a shelf in the corner, she said, "Tea I can most certainly do, and I've got some moldy bread I can have a go at transfiguring if you like?"

"Thanks but I think I'll pass."

She smiled at him again, but he thought he could see sadness in her eyes. "Yes. Fred said you'd say that."

It was very surreal, having this irrepressibly chatty witch bustling around him in the cramped, linoleum covered space, occasionally 'quoting' his brother or else throwing the chair opposite him dirty looks or small, fond smiles. George thought that for all her apparent warmth she seemed very cautious, even shy- her hands visibly shook when she placed his tea down in front of him, slopping hot brown liquid across the table. He supposed that came from being unused to solid, human company…or any company at all, if she was indeed just a head case relative of Professor Trelawney's. Which George couldn't help suspecting she was.

For all his efforts, no matter how much he squinted his eyes or wrinkled his nose or muttered 'Reveleo' from the corner of his mouth, his wand aimed under the table in the direction that Annie kept glancing, he could not see his brother… and it was difficult to suppress the bubble of disappointment that sat in his throat when he stared at the lifeless space in front of him.

"Feet off the table, Fred!" Leanne said exasperatedly, swatting at an empty space a few inches away from George's steaming mug as she took the seat next to the one apparently occupied by his twin. "I don't care if there's no such thing as ghost-mud on ghost-shoes, it's not polite." She sent George another of her weak, somewhat pitying smiles. "Sorry… The veg and that have to simmer for a bit so… I guess we should talk now. Properly."

"How can you see him?" George asked stiffly, not breaking his narrowed gaze from what was actually his brother's chin. ("Have I got something on my face? Is it a spot? Good god, I think I might be coming down with spattergroit, what's on my face?").

"I don't know." Leanne looked uncomfortable, throwing Fred another warning look as she cradled her hot mug between both of her hands. "He just sort of… appeared after the battle of Hogwarts and he wouldn't bugger off again until I promised I'd try and find you… "

George nodded. They looked at each other for a beat, then both glanced away.

"He- he wants to know how the rest of the family are?"

George finally seemed to give up squinting and dropped his gaze to the table. He looked exactly as he had the other night; like cold, but vulnerable, marble. "Fine. Doing better than I am anyway." His tone was bitter and he picked at a splinter of wood on the table's surface. There was another slightly awkward pause, before he added suddenly, "Harry and Ginny are engaged."

"Engaged?" Fred looked like he was going to leap to his feet, somehow torn between ecstatically happy and angry. "But she's… she's not even of age yet. How did Mum take it?"

"He says 'how did Mum take it?'"

George shrugged. "She was alright. 'Course Ginny's a bit young, but she's been mooning over Harry since she was 11 so it evens out… she's dropped out of school because of this Harpies thing, so they're living together at Grimmauld Place while Harry does up the cottage at Godrics Hollow… and what with Harry's job all lined up at the Ministry it's not like they're going to be destitute… "

Fred leant back in his chair with his arms folded, seemingly uncomfortable with the idea. "Yeah, but still… bit rushed, isn't it? Did you punch him?"

"Fred!" Leanne glared at him, horrified.

"Well threaten him, just a bit. I never got a chance to with Dean and I've always fancied doing the older brother protective thing..."

"What did he say?" George asked curiously.

"He wanted to know if you'd…punched or threatened Harry."

George snorted. "I'm not being funny mate, but after Voldemort I don't think some lanky ginger bloke getting all chivalrous over his sister is going to give him too much to worry about… He should probably watch out for Muriel though, I'd rather take the Death Eaters again than get in her bad books…" He trailed off guiltily.

Leanne gave a small cough, interrupting his thoughts. "And…the shop? How's the shop doing?"

"Lee's taken over. I know that Ron goes in if it's busy but… that's not very often anymore. Stocks are running low. People are bored of getting nosebleeds and turning their mates into canaries…"

Fred now took the turn of staring at his brother, his face was one of incredulousness. He looked as though he were seriously considering giving him a hard slap. "Then invent some new stuff you-"

Annie interrupted the stream of crude, colourful and inventive language that Fred was using to describe his brother. "Umm… he says, 'can't you invent some new stuff'?"

"Don't." George said suddenly, snapping his head up to glare at Annie.

"D-don't what?"

"Edit." George swallowed, his eyes softening and shoulders drooping again. "If he really is talking to you, I want to hear it how he says it. Whether he's swearing at me or not."

"Ok," Annie listened for a moment, then echoed back Fred's exact words. "Lee's alright but it's not his job to look after the shop- it's got our ruddy name on it!- And I can't believe you haven't made any effort to come up with new merchandise. If you're not careful you're going to blow the whole goddamn thing."

"How do you expect me to concentrate on something as unimportant as a _joke_ _shop _when_-" _

Leanne found herself not only parroting Fred's words but his tone and anger as well. She even mirrored the fist-slam he did against the table for dramatic effect. "Don't you dare! That shop has been your dream since the first time you put a dungbomb underneath Aunt Muriel's chair, it's all you've worked for for the past 3 years- morning and night, inventing, selling, processing it all- you can't just throw it away!"

"You did that." George said softly, dipping a finger into the lukewarm cup of tea in front of him and sucking it.

"You can't just- sorry?"

"You did that. With the dungbomb." George looked up again, this time unknowingly meeting his brothers' wide, angry eyes with his calm ones. "It was _our _dream to run the shop, not my dream. You found the premises, you came up with the Snackboxes, _you_ started it all and I went along with it because I didn't really care what I was doing if we were doing it together. It's just not…" His voice caught in his throat and Annie saw him press his eyes closed tight before continuing. "It's just not _fun_ anymore, Fred. Not the shop. Not the messing around. Even abusing Ron is losing its appeal. I don't know how to do it alone. Any of it."

"But you've got to." Fred said fiercely, grabbing his twins' hand. George showed no signs that he could feel it, so Leanne took his other one and squeezed it hard whilst she carried on repeating Fred's words.

"I didn't die so that you could spend the rest of your life moping around like Moaning Myrtle's idea of a sexual fantasy. I died because I wanted all the misery to end- so that you could have a better life, not overshadowed by evil and fear."

"But how do I do that, how do I live?" George was crying openly now, squeezing Annie's hand back as he tried to stem the flow. She felt something scratching against the inside of her palm- he was still clutching the receipt with her address written on it. "You were going to be my Best Man, Uncle Freddie to the kids, my business partner- one day when we were old we'd sell it on to the next generation of prankster gits and retire somewhere- travel the world together maybe. We were supposed to do it all _together_."

"And we will! Even if I hadn't found me this charming little translator do you think I would've just left you? Hmmm?" A single pearly tear was forming in Fred's eye, but he brushed it away firmly. "Stupid little thing like death won't stop me doing all those things, it just means that you've got to start doing things for the both of us. If you travel the world, I'll come with you. When you get married I'll be standing right there, wolf whistling at the poor girl who has to put up with you for eternity. As for the kids, well, I wanted four at least, so you had better start looking for that unfortunate soul-mate of yours and make sure she's got a nice pair of child-bearing hips on her…and I reckon Fred's a pretty decent name for a tiny, red-headed troublemaker as well. "

They sat like that; two solid, silently crying figures and one transparent, holding onto each other, for what felt like hours. It wasn't just the grief of the separated brothers, it felt like they were crying for all of the deceased of the Hogwarts battle, and the survivors still trying to get back to normality…

An expression of disgust suddenly passed over Fred's face. "What the hell is that smell…?"

"THE VEGETABLES!"

Annie leapt across the kitchen, knocking over one of her pans with crash while the other one emitted a foul smelling brown fug that started off the round red fire alarm stuck on the ceiling. The fire-alarm's wailing and Leanne's curses and muttered spells whilst she attempted to un-stick the curdled, off-white goo at the bottom of the saucepan, could not have signaled a more fitting end to the sentimental moment. It was enough.

For the first time in 7 months, George Weasley was laughing, and even though he couldn't see him… he felt sure that Fred was laughing too.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Another long, fill-y kind of part... but hopefully enjoyable all the same :) Still plenty of excitement to come! If you're still with me, pleaaaseeee R&R!**_

_**(When I published this at 3am it was full of rubbishy errors, so if you read that version I am SO sorry. Clearly my proof reading abilities are impaired by lack of sleep- who knew?)**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 4- "To live in the hearts of those we love is never to die."<strong>

"You know what I think?"

"Do I _want _to know what you think?"

Annie scrubbed viciously at a particularly sticky vegetable-and-curdled-buttermilk stain on the bottom of the saucepan - a stain that, incidentally, was almost exactly the same size and shape as Snape's nose. Having seen George the day before and fully comprehending the enormity of the task in front of her, Leanne had conceded that she might be saying in Ottery St Catchpole for quite some time. As such, she had decided that the small flat she was renting needed a spruce up and had spent the morning attempting to clean it the Muggle way. Fred, of course, thought this was hilarious and had spent most of _his _morning un-doing all of Annie's hard work… Tensions were running high, a fact that wasn't helped by the transparent red-head's endless chattering.

Fred, clearly oblivious to Annie's disinterest, began pacing around the cramped space of the kitchen twiddling his thumbs, his face screwed up in concentration. "I think that George is desperately lonely… like, cripplingly lonely. You know, him and me haven't spent more than a day apart since we were born, and I was the older twin, the one who made the decisions and that… so…That's going to leave some kind of dependency scar on anyone. An empty void where he used to have guidance and direction, that sort of thing…"

"Hmmm," Leanne straightened up, satisfied that the pan was at least 89% germ free and 95% ominous-unrecognizable-stain free. Watching Fred as he continued to pace, she tried to hide the fact that she was secretly impressed and even- though she hated to think it- strangely touched by his sensitive insight to his brother's feelings.

"So…he'll be lonely, and he'll feel like no one will ever be able to fill that gap for him again. He won't realize that what he actually has to do is start thinking of himself as his own person, not part of a unit…" Fred's speech began to pick up its pace, and a broad smile stretched over his face as he seemed to find enlightenment. "Therefore- obviously!- the thing that will most help him move on from my death is-"

"A renewed independence and confidence in his own abilities…"

"-a damn good shag. What?"

"WHAT?" Leanne spun around, all previous appreciation of Fred's 'sensitivity' evaporating as her face flushed a very vibrant shade of red.

"It's sort of a special cuddle between two people who-"

"WHAT?" She repeated, throwing her dishcloth and bottle of antibacterial spray down on the table so as to free up her hands.

"No, no listen! It makes sense!" Fred hastily moved out of arms reach, watching her flexing fists warily.

"You seriously think," Leanne said slowly, advancing on the somewhat worried figure of Fred with measured, deliberate steps that emphasized every other word. "That your spirit has postponed its arrival in the next world, turning it's back on the chance of true peace and returning instead to this world of the living, finding me- the only person who can hear you, see you- coming here…you think that was all for the sake of seeing your grieving twin brother get _laid?"_

Fred swallowed nervously, backing hastily away from this new, scary Leanne and towards the relative safety of the living room. "Ummm…yeah?"

"THAT'S FUNDAMENTALLY SICK. You saw him yesterday, he's distraught!"

"Well then! You can't deny it would cheer him up a bit!" Fred said indignantly, taking refuge at the other side of the flat and making sure that he put a large sofa, a stained coffee table and a disused television set between himself and the shrieking woman in front of him. "And you might find it's good for you too! There's only so many times you can wake up in the morning to find you've been spooning your duvet Annie- I can tell that you're lonely too! So while, admittedly, it would be nice if the girl in question had a little more to offer cleavage-wise, I think you'll do just-"

Fred ducked as a china mug sailed towards his head, shattering against the hideous floral wallpaper behind him at the exact same moment that there was a tentative knock on the front door.

"Who's that?" Leanne whispered, dropping to a crouch and peering cautiously into the hallway.

"Why don't you ask them?"

Leanne shot a nasty glance in Fred's direction. "It could be anyone! Can't you do something?"

He returned her glare with a withering look. "Do what, exactly? I'm merely the imprint of a departed soul who turned my back on the bliss of the afterlife, just so that I could spend time with you whilst you shag the little remaining brains out of my dear sibling, remember?"

"Hello?" Called a gruff voice, muffled from behind the door. "Annie?"

"Ah! Speak of the devil!" Fred beamed and ran across the room to watch his brother through the spy hole in the door. This was apparently a new favorite pastime of his. "Are you going to let him in then?"

"Umm…" Annie seemed torn, her eyes flickering between the front door, the bedroom door and her frankly hideous Muggle attire; male tracksuit bottoms, riddled with holes and covered in paint stains, rolled up to the knees and a huge, tent-like 'All Blacks' rugby shirt hardly made for an attractive hostess.

Fred raised his eyebrows at her and folded his arms. "So despite the fact you pretended to be awfully insulted by my earlier suggestions, you do, in fact, hold a little soft spot for my brother?"

"Of course not, I hardly know him!" Annie scowled and stomped towards him, resigning herself to humiliation. "It's just that in the real world, _living_ people can judge you for walking around looking like a hobo."

Smoothing her expression into something a little more pleasant (though she doubted the effort would really improve the unwashed, messy bun, no-makeup and baggy eyed look), Annie undid the latch with an appropriate air of surprise. Cracking the door open only a slit, so as to try and hide her woeful appearance, she exclaimed. "George!"

"Hello…" George said, a little uncertainly, the small frown line between his eyebrows deepening as he looked curiously through the 4 inch gap in the door. He did smile though, which boosted Leanne's spirits somewhat (no pun intended).

"What brings you here?" She inwardly cursed at herself for sounding like a cheesy 1960's housewife, at the same time forcibly ignoring Fred's whines as he attempted to look over her shoulder.

"I was walking past and… umm…sorry. I just wondered if you'd… ahh…" George sighed, kicking his heels awkwardly against the concrete. "Ok. So... I'm going to visit Fred's grave and thought you might like to come, but being completely aware of how horrifically boring and frankly miserable an experience that's likely to be, I understand completely if you-"

"I'd love to!"

"Gosh, there's no need to be so enthusiastic about my rotting remains…" Fred muttered sulkily. Leanne aimed a kick at him, still smiling through the door at George.

"I'll need to change though… Do you want to come in?"

"Please. It's colder than a Dementor's privates out there…"

The three of them stood in the hallway for a moment, Annie twisting the hem of her drooping top between her hands. She started to sidle towards the bedroom, feeling George's eyes follow her in what was not, in any way, an appreciative size-up. His expression was the mirror of his brothers; eyebrows half-raised, mouth pressed into one of those 'soooo…' style pouts.

"I'll just…umm… you sit down! I won't be long!" Annie dashed off behind the relative privacy of her bedroom door, still irritated with herself for her inability to act normally around people, discounting Fred, obviously…but their form of interaction was based largely in snide remarks, sarcasm and atrocious excuses for humor anyway.

George rocked back on his heels, feeling distinctly out of place among the fussy décor and tidiness of the flat. Taking slow, measured strides, he circled the living room- half afraid that he might walk through his brother with every step. "There's a broken cup out here…?"

"Oh… sorry, yes! That was Fred. Well it was me, but I threw it at Fred… " Annie's threatening tone, even distant as it was through the closed door, made George chuckle.

He flicked his wand at the broken mug and watching as the pieces flew back together, resealing themselves into one smooth, complete whole. He wondered, fleetingly, whether there was a spell that could do that to a human soul. "I'm sure he deserved it."

A flash of white caught George's eye, his heightened reflexes spinning him on the spot to follow it. His heart leapt, sickeningly, before he realized what he was looking at. It was just a mirror- A reflection of him standing there with the newly fixed mug in his hands. He had tried to avoid mirrors as much as possible recently, but there were still moments like this that caught him out and got his hopes up all over again. Especially now that he knew there was a chance, a BIG chance, that he _could_ see his twin again.

"Where are you Fred?" George whispered at his own reflection, watching the lips of his doppelganger move in unison with his own. Kidding himself. He was still just kidding himself.

Another figure stepped into the reflection behind him. It was an Annie, dressed in well-fitting jeans and holding two scarves.

"So when you said 'cold as a Dementor's privates' are we talking cold," she held up the short stripy scarf, "or _really _cold."

"_Really _cold." George pointed to the thicker, longer scarf in her other hand. "Just imagine the inside of a Dementor's Y-fronts, all that clammy iciness condensed into one vulnerable area… that cold."

Annie's reflection grinned and wrapped herself up in the wool, partially obscuring her face in its thickness. "Let's go then."

The village was oddly still for the early afternoon. Bitter winds whistled down the old-fashioned cobbled streets and nipped at bare wrists and faces- after the unexpectedly hot summer, Annie still associated the cold with Him and His reign of terror, the unnatural fogs and torrential rain pours that seemed to freeze the very soul… but this was a good kind of cold. Fresh and lively.

"He's buried outside the village, in the family plot," George said, gesturing to a narrow country lane in the near-distance that wound it's way behind a hill and out of sight. "Next to old Grandpa Septimus."

"Swell." Fred muttered, keeping a few paces behind them. "So I get to spend the rest of my days next to a man who used to light up his farts with his wand and enchant his false teeth to chase us around the garden…"

At the bitterness in his tone, Annie shot him a questioning look over her shoulder, but he pretended not to notice her.

"Family plot, eh? That sounds impressive."

George shrugged. "The Weasley's have lived here for ages. Most of the old families stick to one place, it's easier to integrate when there's a bit of history behind you."

"Mmm. My landlandy mentioned the Diggory's and the Fawcett's… "

"Yeah, Cedric's up there too. And all the Fawcett's. It's getting crowded." They'd reached the gate now and George drew his wand, tracing a large letter 'W' in the air. The letter hung, a dull gold, in front of them for a second, before the gate swung forwards to allow them access. "So…what about you?"

Annie buried her hands deeper into her pockets, trying to ignore the small swell of panic that rose like boiled water in her chest. "Oh, I'm no pureblood. Not by a long way. My mum was a witch, but her Dad was an accountant and after she left Hogwarts she got a job in a muggle hospital. I never saw her do magic, not even for cooking or cleaning…" Annie felt her voice waver, so forced herself to smile. "I've got a Father somewhere who supposedly comes from good stock but I've never met him, so I don't really think that counts."

The incline of the hill got steeper at this point, and the pair were spared from making further conversation for a few minutes. Behind them, Fred was dragging his feet with his head bowed against a wind that didn't ruffle his hair or tug on his clothes.

"Fred, come on!" Leanne had turned back and was waving her arms at him.

"I'm not a dog!" Fred called back angrily. He didn't increase his pace.

Annie sighed. "Oh dear."

"What?" George looked out across the hill, down at the miniaturized village spreading across the valley surrounded by fields and trees that hid The Burrow from eagle-eyed muggles. There was no indication that they had been accompanied by anything; He couldn't even see tracks

"I don't think Fred is particularly keen on us taking this little jaunt." Annie sighed again and shook her head. "He's a strange one, your brother. Sometimes I swear he enjoys the fact that he's…well, y'know…departed or whatever, but he does get in these moods…"

"What do you think will happen? I mean, you've found me and if that's all he wanted then surely he should have gone 'POOF' by now. Not that I'm saying I want him to go, I just…" George shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the November chill. "As much as having him to talk to is great and all, I can't help but feel like I'd be happier knowing that he was at peace."

"Great for you maybe. I'm the one that has to put up with his temper tantrums and bad jokes and crude, twisted ponderings." Leanne was admiring the view, as George had done, but couldn't help thinking longingly of London and it's busy, comforting liveliness. "I don't know how this thing works either. Maybe he will go when he feels he's completed his 'purpose', maybe he'll never go away, maybe he's in denial…? Whatever way, I'm going to try and help him if I can."

George nodded in silent agreement. "Come on, we're nearly there."

A pair of glimmering golden gates made way to the entrance of the Wizard's graveyard- a place that seemed to be enchanted in a way that reminded Annie forcibly of the ceiling at Hogwarts. Flowers bloomed from healthy green trees and bushels buzzing with fairies and gnomes, the sky above them was blue and clear and the marble headstones shone and sparkled in a light that seemed to come from within the stone itself. It was beautiful, an Eden of sorts, but this did little to lift Fred's apparent foul mood.

He was grimacing, shielding his eyes from the bright marble and aiming kicks at the buzzing bushels. "Remind me why we thought this would be fun?"

Leanne stopped walking again and turned, her hands on her hips. "Fred. Now come on. You're perfectly happy to joke about yourself being dead on a regular day-to-day basis, why should this be any different?"

Fred didn't answer her.

"I'm sorry if it upsets you, but I want to pay my respects. Properly. I'll leave you flowers and everything."

"I'll get ectoplasm hayfever." Fred muttered, folding his arms grumpily. "You two go off and enjoy your date, I'll wait for you here."

"Fred…"

"Go on!"

Leanne glanced back. She could see that George had stopped walking and was looking down, his hands resting lightly on the top of a headstone. With one final disapproving glare at Fred, she made towards the other twin, who hastily backed away from the stone when he heard her footfalls across the grass. It was a simple memorial. Large and white, inscribed in a coppery colour that shone brightly with the strange, artificial light of the place.

**"Here lies Fred Weasley, 1978-1998,**

**who gave his life to the cause of laughter and left it in saving all that he held dear. Thank you, Fred, for your courage and inspiration and the years of joy you brought to us.**

**_Vivo in pectus pectoris illorum nos diligo est nunquam morior."_**

Once again, Leanne felt the true burden of the grief felt by a family that she wasn't even acquainted with. The inscription was perfect- beautiful, even, and she found herself struck numb with the reality of it all. 'Left it in saving all that he held dear…' wasn't that exactly what Fred had said in the kitchen yesterday? They owed him their lives. Both of them.

There was a long lapse of silence before George broke it.

"I've got something for you, by the way."

He pulled a saucepan out from under his coat with apparent difficulty, before presenting it to Annie with a flourish.

"…Thanks." Annie said doubtfully, but took it from him with an encouraging smile. "You know how I love to cook."

George gave her a lopsided smile. "It's a screaming saucepan, the only one in the world! I invented it in your honor this morning; if it can feel that the stuff inside it is burning it'll shriek and pelt red-hot food everywhere until you sort it out."

"Handy, if a little dangerous." Her smile now was genuine. "That's really nice of you George, thank you."

He shrugged and looked back at the gravestone. "Well I figured if I'm going to be coming over for dinner more often I'll starve if I don't do something that might improve your cooking abilities."

Annie returned her attention back to the stone as well, watching the light sparkle off the letter "F". With the pan held tightly in her hand, she felt something resolve itself inside her. "I'll help him leave, George," she said quietly. "I promise I will."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay...Umm WOW! I had a really positive response after that last chapter, thank you so much for taking the time to favourite and alert and review you wonderful people! I feel like I'm letting everyone down a bit by publishing something so short after people are finally getting interested, but it's really just to speed things up so that we can get to the juicy and exciting (EEEEEEKKKKKK) bits sometime _before_ 2012. Honesty, thanks again for the encouragement guys- I welcome further feedback with open arms, even if it is just to tell me that you appalled by this tiny scrappy little chapter and are removing yourself from association with the story forthwith and post-haste. Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5- Cookery and Cordiality<strong>

The following two weeks continued in much the same fashion; George would arrive on the doorstep of Annie's flat and Annie would attempt to cook for the two of them whilst occasionally reprimanding or interpreting for Fred - an act that often almost resulted in the two living counterparts of their bizarre acquaintance winding up poisoned, especially after Screaming Saucepan.1 met a sticky end at the hands of a Pot Au Feu.

Screaming Saucepan.2 was bubbling away merrily on the stove, Leanne occasionally prodding at the mushy clump of pasta at the bottom with her spatula and cursing. "How on earth have I managed to mess this up? It's _pasta _for crying out loud! And don't you dare start getting aggy with me." She said in a warning tone as the saucepan let out a low whine. "I'm not going to let you burn so just _chill it_, okay?"

"Talking to inanimate objects again." George said idly, turning the page of the Daily Prophet without looking up. "That's a sign of madness you know."

Leanne huffed. "But of course, being able to hold long, in-depth conversations between you and your supposedly departed brother is completely normal… and you may say 'inanimate', but that last saucepan you made me looked pretty lively when it was bouncing off the walls pelting bits of beef and carrot everywhere."

"And may it rest in pieces up in the big shiny kitchen in the sky." Fred said, affecting a solemn expression.

"What did Fred just say?" George perked up, glancing over the top of his newspaper at Annie, who was serving up what appeared to be large clumps of solid rice pudding.

This was a new and annoying habit of his; George seemed able to track even the tiniest facial expression that Leanne pulled in Fred's direction, or else timed pauses in conversation so that anything over 7 seconds became a 'Fred speech gap'. As much as Annie was happy to help the twins, this act of parroting Fred's every contribution was wearing thin. She tried not to show it though- George seemed to be getting better, she didn't want to do anything that would knock the comfort he found in having his brother back. "He said, "And may it rest in pieces up in the big shiny kitchen in the sky'."

George grinned appreciatively, an expression that changed to chagrin very quickly when his plate of mush in red sauce was placed in front of him. "Mmm. Wonderful. And already partially digested by the looks of things, so saving me effort in the long run as well…"

"If you don't like it, you've got a perfectly trained and domesticated mother at home who-"

"I'm joking. This…looks great."

The pair chewed on their rubbery, tomatoey dinners for a second before Fred piped up, "Why _doesn't_ he spend more time at home?" Leanne watched George curiously for a second, considering Fred's question. It had never really occurred to her before, but having spent every single evening in their company for almost two weeks did seem a bit…strange. She forced the congealed lump of pasta in her mouth through her windpipe with some difficulty before repeating his question.

George took a little while to answer, pushing the congealed mess around his plate with a frown. "Home's…difficult." He said finally. "No one really treats me like a person there anymore. If they happen to mention Fred everyone's eyes turn to me all wide and scared like I'm going to fall to my knees and burst into fits of hysterics. Percy keeps trying to have these weird little private chats with me where all he says is 'Sorry, it should've been me…' and then I have to pat his back and tell him that it isn't his fault. Mum will do this thing where she watches me doing normal every day things and then her eyes well up when I turn my head and she sees that I'm the one without the ear." George gave a strange little half-shrug, as of shaking off his own nagging thoughts. "Everyone deals with grief in their own ways I suppose, but I'd just much rather they all saw me as 'George' rather than 'the other twin'…if that makes sense."

"Yeah. I guess it does."

"I like coming here- even if the food is terrible… I mean really terrible- because I get to talk about normal things, be myself, get to talk about him as well. I want to be able to talk about all of it, but I can't do it with them without people getting worked up." George threw down his fork, obviously defeated by the inedible dinner in front of him. He was still smiling though, if slightly sadly. "But… at the same time, the thought of being alone is still a bit… I couldn't go back to our flat yet. Not with all of his things still there, just as he left them."

Fred walked around the table and placed a ghostly hand on his brother's shoulder. He didn't say anything and his head was bent forwards so as to hide his expression from Annie. It was heart breaking to see- it was another one of those times when Fred seemed (although he never spoke about it to Annie) to mourn his own losses. As much as he used to say he'd love an invisibility cloak so that he could fake his deaths and see his own funeral, understanding that his family were mourning, truly and deeply missing him, hurt. It was like sticking needles under your fingernails; the kind of minor pain that lingered, agitating and prickly in it's persistence.

Annie was paying such close attention to her own analysis of the brothers that she hardly noticed she was automatically parroting Fred's words until she felt them hanging in the air afterwards.

George's eyes snapped to her own, sparkling mischievously. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Wha-? I… "

"I'll pack my things at The Burrow tonight and bring them over tomorrow morning. Then I guess I'll have to go over to the flat in London and pick up some decent furnishings, because all this faded lace and floral wallpaper is really grating on me…" He was already standing up, depositing his plate by the sink with a markedly more cheerful demeanor than Annie had ever seen on him previously. "Thanks Annie, this has been great! I'll see you tomorrow, roomie." And with a cheeky wink he was out of the kitchen and slamming the front door behind him before Annie could gasp out any more confused half-words.

"YOU!" She rounded on Fred, who was looking very smug and sitting atop the kitchen counter, picking his nails.

He looked over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows before gesturing to himself. "You talkin' to me?"

"You planned this, didn't you! You affected that whole…" Leanne struggled to find the phrase. "Bromance moment just then, so that I was emotionally and mentally distracted and then-"

"I'm sorry, but '_bromance' _is a bit far…_" _

"Fred!" Annie resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. "This is my home for the time being- I already have to share it with you, don't you think I deserve just a tiny bit of respect? Some privacy, maybe?"

"Yes, but you also said you'd help me to help my brother in any way you could. You heard him! He needed out. He had no other options, so this place is perfect!"

"I offered to help to get rid of you, not to take another one of you on!"

"On the plus side…" Fred leapt lightly from the counter and stood behind Leanne as she began to take her feelings of pent-up aggression out on her saucepan with a scouring pad. "This makes my plan all the more convenient for the two of you."

"Your plan?" Leanne peered at him from the corners of her eyes, trying to disguise her curiosity under her air of thoroughly pissed off-ness.

Fred tapped the side of his nose and winked in the same way his twin had done just moments before. "Don't want to spoil the surprise."

Leanne groaned inwardly. "Oh Fred, you aren't trying to play matchmaker are you? Because I can tell you right now that it's not happening."

Fred shrugged and strolled out of the kitchen. "We'll see."

The pan in Annie hands gave what sounded like a muffled giggle.

"You can shut up and all." Annie said viciously, slamming the thing down so hard on the draining board that it squeaked indignantly.

_Talking to inanimate objects, that's a sign of madness you know… _"Living with the Weasley twins," Annie muttered to herself, drying her hands on the seat of her trousers. "Now _that's _gotto be a fast track to madness..."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hold onto your hats, this is where the ball starts to roll...! Extra long to make up for short previous chapter and potential lateness in my next posting (though fingers crossed I'll be able to get it written by tomorrow if I try reaaaaally hard). Thank you for your continued interest, and as per- hope you enjoy! **

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 6- Lies, lies, lies<span>**

Leanne squinted through the veil of green flames that surrounded her, ignoring the cool blaze that licked feverishly at her elbows and face. It had been a while since she'd last visited Diagon Alley, but if the interior Leaky Cauldron was anything to go by, there had been some big changes to the place. What used to be a small, somewhat grimy pub was now bright and warm, shining in that healthy brown way of a new conker. Large groups of witches and wizards and assorted others laughed and toasted each other, and the bar tender Tom was grinning lovingly at them all in his gummy way- although Leanne had to admit that even he now looked more adorable than terrifying in his toothlessness these days.

A sharp push in the small of her back sent Leanne crashing out of her reverie and quite literally into the pub- namely, her face to the pubs floor. Winded, blushing at the cheers and sarcastic clapping that surrounded her, Annie scrabbled to her feet in time to see George and his transparent mirror-image of a brother stepping smartly out of the fire and brushing imaginary ash from their shoulders.

Feeling the heat of her glare, George glanced up, his expression innocent. "You alright, Annie? You look a bit dusty."

When she merely continued to glare, he shrugged and walked towards the bar. "That's what you get for lingering in busy fireplaces; it's a risky business is floo travel."

Fred fell into step (or glide, in his case) next to her. "You've got a bit of black on your face, by the way."

"Brilliant."

"Want me to get it for you?" Fred pulled a ghostly handkerchief out from inside his pocket and spat noisily into it, holding it somewhat threateningly towards her face.

"Thanks, but I'm allergic to ectoplasm." Leanne rubbed her cheek with the palm of her hand, watching George moving through the crowds. He seemed to know everyone- or they, at least, recognized him. People slapped him on the back or shoulders as he passed (and one little green witch, hiccoughing loudly even went in for a cheeky buttock squeeze), calling out loud words of greeting or else trying to wave him over to join their parties.

"Alright Master Weasley!" Tom shouted jovially over the raucous, waving a white rag in his hands. George turned to smile at the old barman, pausing to lean an elbow on the bar as Tom poured him out a generous measure of Firewhisky, and conjured up a second glass for himself. "The street's been so damn quiet without you and that rascal brother of yours, Merlin rest his mischief soul; Diagon Alley has missed the both of you!"

Together, they rose their glasses and murmured "Fred."

A loud trumpeting noise caused Annie to start in alarm until she realized it was just Fred blowing his nose loudly into his spectral handkerchief and wiping a solitary tear from his eye. "Beautiful. Just beautiful."

George knocked back the whisky in one, dropping a couple of galleons on the counter with his free hand. "Yeah, well. This is just a flying visit I'm afraid Tom."

"Oh…" Tom seemed disappointed; no doubt the twin's apparent popularity brought a good trade through his pub. Catching sight of Leanne hovering uncertainly, however, the wizened old man grinned broadly again. "Oho! Well, well, well! I'm supposing that this lovely lady is what's keeping you away from your shop then Weasley, eh?"

"Who?" George glanced around wildly, a shocked but hopeful expression upon his face as though some long-forgotten Veela conquest might be floating seductively in his wake. When his eyes fell on Annie (still sporting a fetching smudge of black on her cheek and a lump of dust in her hair), he seemed barely able to contain his disappoint. "Oh, no. That's just Leanne."

Tom dropped a wink, cackling merrily to himself. "Charmed, I'm sure. But of course! You were a Hogwarts lass, I remember that well enough. Tiny, clutching your Mum's hand all wide eyed and nervous, tripping over the threshold cause you were too busy staring at everything else!" he cackled again, and was joined by George who chuckled, shaking his head.

"'_Just' _Leanne! JUST LEANNE!" Annie muttered angrily to Fred, laving George and Tom to their reminiscing and stomping out of the pub to the brick wall that led onto Diagon Alley. "Not even, 'my new flat mate, Leanne' or…or 'my friend, Leanne'-"

"Or 'Leanne who claims to be able to talk to my dead brother and whom cooks me inedible food but I'm living with her anyway to escape the clutches of my over-protective family.'" Fred suggested. "That's got a nice ring to it."

"I am my own person, you know! I'm not just your telephone to the world of the living!"

Fred's expression was blank. "What's a telephone?"

"I give up."

"What's this?" George swept out of the backdoor, smiling and smacking his lips together. "Excuse my slight lateness, I saw Verity on the way out- had to…uh…reintroduce myself."

"Oh please." Annie rolled her eyes, feeling slightly nauseated.

"He can't help it," Fred said soothingly, as they tapped the brick and walked through the gap into the shop-lined street. "It's the Weasley charm. Inherited along with the red-hair, fine physique and blistering intelligence…although a couple of those did seem to skip dear Ronald."

After months of boarded windows pasted over with yellowing posters filled with dire warnings and the sunken faces of Death Eaters and nothing but the sound of the occasional lone, hurried pair of feet marching smartly across the cobble stones, Diagon Alley was finally breathing free again. The streets were filled with vibrant coloured shop displays and even more brightly-clad and bustling customers; small children wearing bobble hats, with toy wands and miniature broomsticks ran excitedly from shop to shop followed by haggard looking parents ,whilst clusters of younger witches and wizards- clearly recent Hogwarts leavers- sat gossiping excitedly outside the ice cream parlor, brushing glittering enchanted snow from their hair with gloved fingers.

It was nearly Christmas, Annie realized with an unpleasant jolt, firmly pushing back the memories of her last Christmas; which was about as festive and full of gay cheer as You-Know-Who with a bit of tinsel tied around his head. This year would be different…maybe even nice? She thought of her and Fred pulling a cracker together over the plate of brown sludge which was her Christmas dinner…and wondered if actually, You-Know-Who with some tinsel wouldn't liven things up a bit.

They had been making their way slowly down the street, having to shuffle through the crowds and around Butterbeer stands and were just approaching the knot of boys and girls guffawing loudly outside Florean Fortecue's when Annie spotted him.

She grabbed George's arm, ("Ow! Jesus, Annie…") and attempted to hide herself behind his slightly taller frame, peering anxiously over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He kept trying to turn around, exposing her despite her best efforts.

"I'm performing some interpretive street ballet- I'm HIDING, what the bloody hell else…" She trailed off with a groan. "Too late. He's seen me now."

Sure enough, over the heads of the surrounding shoppers, could be heard a deep, swarthy male baritone. "Annie? Leanne?"

Annie started pushing George roughly towards the Apothecary that stood nearest to them. "Stay here, and _don't_ come over or say or do _anything_ that indicates we are in some way connected, know each other or are here with each other AT ALL. I'll make my excuses and come and get you in a bit. Fred is staying with you too." She said firmly, glaring momentarily at Fred who was apparently protesting. There was something so Mrs Weasley-ish about the narrowing of her eyes that made George powerless to obey, and he stood lamely by the side of the shop as she marched smartly back into the street, pretending to rummage for something in her bag before she was approached by the chiseled hunk of a man who was calling her name.

George's jaw dropped open as he recognized the man now bending to embrace her and kiss her warmly upon the cheek, smiling in that adorably roguish way that George sometimes managed to pulled off himself... hmm...sometimes. He watched them chatting in the reflection of the shop window, ignoring the curious stares of a large tawny owl peering back at him. Maybe it was the recently consumed fire whisky, but George was feeling rebellious and he certainly had no intention of standing to the side when such a curious confabulation was going on…

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><p>Annie's heart was thumping uncomfortably in her throat as she rummaged in her bag to look for something, ANYTHING, that could improve her current appearance. Hanging around with Fred for so long had been bad for her, fashion-wise; when you only have a ghost and his brother to impress that lick of lipstick or mascara and nice clothes really do seem like a touch too much bother.<p>

But he was there and standing in front of her before she could so much as find a tin of Vaseline.

"Annie!" he said, and he was smiling in that way that made her knees go gooey- goddamnit this was going to be worse than she imagined…

"Miles!" She affected a tone of surprise and then accompanying facial expression. He went in for a hug and kiss and blimey, she'd forgotten how tall he was and broad and hunky and…phwoaaaarrrrr.

"How _are _you? It's been ages! You've cut your hair!"

Oh…he did look genuinely pleased to see her, poor lamb.

"Yeah… I needed a change." Leanne ran her fingers subconsciously through her shoulder length, now-uncontrollable curls; a hack job of her own doing, when she became convinced she could never wash the blood out of the ends…. "And I'm not too bad, you?"

"Good, I'm good!" He flicked his own hair back from his eyes rakishly, standing with his weight on one hip and his hands tucked 'stylishly' into his trouser pockets. "Really good actually, I finally got that job at the ministry working with Tiberius-" (Annie hated how always referred to his family members by their first names- what was wrong with 'Mum' or 'Dad'?) "-starting in the Department of Magical Co-operation after Christmas."

"Well done, that's fantastic."

"Yes, it is." (And there it was, the arrogance and straight-talking that made being in a relationship with him almost unbearable until you remembered how drop-dead gorgeous he was). "Of course, Cormac is horribly disappointed, after all that nonsense up at school he'll be hard pushed to get in there… but we shall see…And what about you? Did you apply for Healer training?"

Annie's stomach sank. "Oh… no. No, I missed this years application…"

"Oh, of course!" Miles smacked a hand to his forehead, his expression changing to one of simultaneous annoyance and concern. "Sorry, I was just so happy to see you, I completely forgot to even ask! How are you, you know, health-wise?"

"Fine. Better."

"Guinevere-" (His Mother, why could he just say 'Mother'?) "-Told me that you'd stopped going to your appointments…"

"I've been busy. I've…uhh… moved to the countryside, bit of fresh air, you know… But it's fine, really, I feel so much better now." Annie tasted the bitterness of the lies on her tongue. This was why she spent so much time with Fred these days, because other than him saying' anything to anyone was just lies, lies, lies.

"But what about…" Miles cleared his throat, glancing around the pair of them as though people might be listening. "Your little…problem? You aren't still seeing… you know…"

"Me?" A warm hand was suddenly tucked snugly around her waist and it was George and he was smiling broadly and his eyes were sparkling in that way that suggested he was finding all of this terribly amusing. But it wasn't funny and Leanne knew that whatever followed now was unlikely to be good- Miles had always been the jealous type but couple that with the things that he knew about her…

For a split second, Miles' face was the picture of shock. He blinked heavily a few times, squinting at the man before him, before realizing. "Ah. George, isn't it?"

George nodded curtly. "McLaggen."

"You… you know each other?" Annie noted the sound of hysteria in her voice and fought to control it.

"Of course. We were in Gryffindor together." Miles said warily, his eyes flicking between the hand on Annie's waist and her face.

"Seen each other naked more times than I'd care to remember." George added brightly. "Though of course, we don't need to tell dear Leanne about that…"

Miles straightened up, puffing his chest out slightly and looking down his nose at the slightly shorter red-head. Faint but angry patches of pink were blossoming across his cheeks. "And you're together now then, are you? You and Leanne?"

"Miles…" Leanne hastily tried to get between the pair, who were almost squaring up to each other in the confined space of the street. Passers by were watching them curiously and Annie was dreading the scene that could ensue… the things that Miles might say….

"Yes." George was grinning again, pulling Leanne even tighter to his side and slightly behind him so that he and Miles were almost nose-to-nose. "We just moved in together actually, haven't we Annie? Near my parents place in Devon."

Miles started laughing, and the contents of Annie's stomach churned horribly because she recognized that it was his patronizing laugh, his 'winners' laugh. "Well I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

George instantly bristled, the grin sliding off his face. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

But Miles wasn't looking at him, he was shaking his head at Annie, a sour expression on his face. "And you say you're better now…"

"I am, look I'm fine-"

"Was it all just an excuse then? You fancied a bit of the ginger blood-traitor here so you made up some cock-and-bull story about his dead brother? Well, after me you lost your taste a bit, didn't you sweetheart?"

George's wand was out and held threateningly near to Miles' face- along with his brothers transparent one. "Don't you dare say a word about my brother."

"Don't you dare call our family blood-traitors." Fred growled, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother- their expressions mirrors of intense dislike.

"What about Annie? Hasn't Annie tried to speak to you about your brother?" Miles was laughing again, still with that ugly look on his face- Annie wondered how she could have ever thought him attractive. "About how he's 'come back from the dead' and follows her around all day?"

George glanced around at Annie's pale, pinched face, feeling the little worm of doubt that he usually sedated wiggle and niggle at his brain.

"She's mad you know!" Miles was still laughing. "You've managed to hook yourself up with a psycho and she's using you for some sick, twisted little game of her own."

"I think you should go." George said firmly, his wand arm held high and steady. "Unless you want me to repeat what I did to you that one time I heard you call Alicia a mudblood."

Far from looking anxious, Miles' tone and expression were scathing. "I'm not scared of you, Weasley. You might both think that fighting in the Hogwarts Battle has made you heroes and you can do whatever you like now, but I assure you, the ministry sees differently… and if I were _you_," He rounded on Leanne with a self-satisfied sneer. "I would abandon your association with him- and most certainly, his deceased twin- as quickly as I could. There's no way they'll let you be a Healer now, you'd never pass the mental requirements, but you might be able retain a bit of personal dignity if you get out early…"

Miles turned to stalk off, but turned at the last minute, if possible wearing an even broader smirk than before. "And I almost forgot to mention! Your father has been in touch."

"What?" Annie's voice came out as little more than a petrified whisper. Her vision was tunneling in on Miles' mouth and the simple, slow-motion phrases it was uttering about her father looking for her, how he was concerned about her mental state, her current whereabouts, was asking everyone who knew her for imformation…

Coming to London had been a bad idea. A terrible, terrible mistake. They had to leave, she had to get away…

She was pushing through the crowd without really realizing where she was going, tripping over her own feet as she stumbled down the street. She had to get away, make herself safe, somewhere quiet where she could just think- get her head straight, make a plan…

Lurching sideways, she fell against the wall of Knockturn Alley, feeling the cold and grimy brickwork beneath her hands and resting her pounding head against it too- stabilizing herself, she just needed to stabilize.

She sensed Fred standing near by, able as he was to move quicker through the crowds than his solid brother. "Annie…" Fred said quietly. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry he said those things about you, it's my fault – what did he mean about you being a Healer?"

"It's fine, Fred." Annie said quietly, her forehead still pressed against the wall as she forced herself to _breathe_. "I don't blame you."

George appeared now, panting, gibbering, his hair sticking to his forehead despite the chill winter air. "What was all that about? I was only having a bit of a laugh, I didn't expect… no sense of humour, none of the McLaggen's do. I never liked him… but are you okay Annie? What was all that stuff about you being mad? I mean to other people it might seem a bit…you know…weird, but you aren't _mad_ mad… are you?"

Annie shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I am. Maybe I should let them lock me up and feed me sleeping solutions until I can't see or hear anything anymore- let alone Fred."

"Don't say that! You're alright!"

Leanne closed her eyes, feeling the throbbing in her head subside. She was, she knew, probably as safe as she could ever want to be in this crowded street. There was no way her father would ever come looking for her in Devon, especially not in a Muggle dwelling, and if Miles did tell him about George- well, so much the better. She relished the opportunity to do anything that would enrage her father, and being associated with Muggle sympathizers was high up there on his anger list.

"Yeah," She said finally, stepping away from the wall and managing to smile at last. "Yeah, I'm alright. Thanks for coming to save me from the scary ex-boyfriend."

George shrugged and smiled, giving her gloved hand just a brief squeeze in one of his own. "Anytime. I've got your back, roomie. Speaking of which, you ready to do some serious packing now?"

Annie looked at George properly for the first time since she first met him; where there had been darkness before she was beginning to see his light, the sparkles in his eyes and the bright, coppery shine on his hair that betrayed his good-natured side despite all the sarcasm and back-handed compliments.

'I've got your back.' So they were friends after all.

"Definitely…though you call me 'roomie' one more time and I swear I will sneak up on you in the night and draw a willy on your face with indelible ink."


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N: _Hellooo, sorry this took so long to publish- had a pretty hectic week moving into a new house and casually meeting the 'real' Dean Thomas and the Weasley twins (aka. Alfie Enouch and Oliver and James Phelps. CASUAL) last Wednesday. Sooo yes. Everything is planned now and the next part is going to be chock-a-block with crazy emotional shizz and revealed secrets, but first you have this bit which is setting things up for...well, who knows? ;) Thanks for the continued support guysssss, enjoy! **

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><p><span>Chapter 7- Nothing changes, nothing stays the same. <span>

The shop that used to be Weasley's Wizard Wheezes stood, somber and bashful, in the space of Number 93 Diagon Alley- looking rather as though it wished it could blend in with the more delicately paint shop fronts beside it. It's bright orange façade was peeling and slightly grubby, the life behind it's windows subdued, whilst the absence of bangs and cheers and whoops emanating from the interior gave the whole place a slumped, tired air.

It was not, in short, the place that Annie remembered passing- craning her neck to peer curiously at the hubbub and chaos inside- in the summer of her 6th year.

George stopped teasing Annie for what he termed as her 'horrendous penchant for half-developed Neanderthals' the moment he spotted it, his mocking expression becoming grim as he surveyed the place he had worked so hard to create. It seemed to Leanne to not be a sign of his renewed passion or purpose, more a show of regret, as he resigned himself to the inevitable, crumbling deterioration of passing time. The sudden silence brought all three of them- living and transparent- back to the solemnity that Leanne's encounter with McLaggen had left in it's wake; a brooding, stormy raincloud that had swung back in front of the weak winter sun.

Fred was shaking his pale head with his eyes closed, as though seeing the shop in that state was causing him physical pain. "What a dump. How could he let it get this bad?"

"Grief." Annie said quietly, watching George's hands flex indecisively as he hovered by the front door, eventually clenching his jaw and swinging the door forward with his head held high. "And a fair amount of laziness too, I expect."

She followed inside, trying hard to not look too closely at the battered and empty shelves and the single high-pitched squeal of delight from the one young boy in there, which rang unnaturally through the hush of the place. Without breaking his stride, George headed for the spiral staircase that cut up through the centre of the shop- taking the metal rungs three at a time as he climbed and ignoring the voices that started shouting his name.

Taller and ganglier than his brother, Ron Weasley positively leapt over the counter that he had been manning, the hopeful tone of his smile making Leanne feel incredibly awkward. "Oi! A 'hello' would be nice!"

"Shut up, Ron." Rumbled George's distant, echoing reply. "And Annie, stop dawdling, or else you might find yourself forced into a conversation with him and your mind doesn't need any more numbing."

"Lousy git." Ron muttered, making a rude hand gesture at the ceiling before straightening his slightly too small magenta staff robes and glancing over at Leanne. "So that makes you Annie, then? The girl that's been holding George hostage for the past two weeks. Well I say hostage, but we're more than happy for you to keep him, so don't waste parchment on the ransom note."

Fred peered closely at his younger brother, who stared right back through him. "He looks a bit peaky, don't you think? Tired. This ugly bugger needs all the beauty sleep he can get anyway, but other than that…Not bad."

Ron carried on speaking over Fred, unable as he was to hear or see Fred at all. "Mum loves you, she reckons you've been sent from Merlin's own shining backside to bring George back to us." Ron wrinkled his long nose, but peered inquisitively at Annie as she shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.

"He just needed someone to talk to, I think." Leanne said eventually, hoping that she didn't sound sickly sweet and patronizing. With a small smile, she moved towards the bottom of the spiral staircase, intending to follow George before Ron could start asking questions.

"You were at Hogwarts." Ron said suddenly, as her back turned. "I recognize your face. You fought with us. You were there when… when…"

"Yes, I was." Annie didn't turn back, but she had heard the break in Ron's voice, knew the scene that he was remembering. _The air filled with dust and rubble and broken bits of stone, broken bits of __**people, **__the screams of the survivors when the handsome red-head was unearthed… _"I'm sorry for your loss."

She began to climb, an anxious Fred scrabbling up the stairs next to her, his face full of confusion and mouth full of inquires which she was forced to ignore. "You were where? What was he talking about? I thought you didn't know my family, that you hadn't seen them that night? Annie!"

"Annie!" George called out irritably, in a spooky unison with his brother.

"Keep your ginger weave on, I'm coming!" She bellowed back, finally mounting the last few stairs that led her up to a trapdoor in the shop's ceiling.

Heaving the door upwards on its heavy hinges, Annie climbed awkwardly through the hole in the floor. Underneath her hands the wooden boards felt grimy and cold and when she brushed herself down, grey snow fell sleepily back onto its original resting place. The flat was large, decorated in a warm and homely fashion with squashy sofas and armchairs and a large, brightly colored wool rug. The fireplace was squat, and with the cluttered collection of framed photographs and trinkets on it's mantle, appeared almost to be weighed down by it's load.

One picture in particular caught Leanne's eye; slightly off center but with pride of place at the front of the busy group. It was the pair of them together, with haircuts that looked as though they had been carved out from around a bowl and freckles standing out starkly against their pink cheeks, grinning identically at the camera and tussling playfully with each other when the photographer looked away.

"This is nice. How old were you there?"

Fred, who was peering over Leanne's shoulder, lightly ran his ghostly fingers across the aging glass that separated himself and his brother- captured together eternally for that one moment in time. "We're eleven… thereabouts. Going to Hogwarts for the first time- see, that's Kings Cross behind us and Mum's arm waving frantically in the corner." Fred stepped around Annie to examine the other photos more closely, pointing out his favourites as he went. "From our holiday in Egypt in our fifth year- we convinced Ginny that eating powdered scarab beetle would make Harry fancy her and she did it but was sick everywhere just after this was taken which is why she looks a bit green… and that was Lee Jordan's 17th birthday. Ah yes! I'm getting off with Angelina!... Christmas…Christmas…" He stopped at a photo right at the end of the group, tucked away at the back. "Bill and Fleur's wedding."

Annie moved around to get a better look. It was a recent picture, scarcely more than a year old, judging by the length of Fred's hair and his height. George's head was wrapped up in bandages, a teaspoon stuck where his ear might have been- a factor that somehow didn't make him look any less handsome. With a jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder and Fred's violet and silver bowtie askew, they were rakish and carelessly good-looking, smiling slightly lopsidedly at each other and simultaneously turning to the camera and laughing.

Annie held the eleven-year-old Weasley boys, still wrestling in her hands, up next to the picture of- what was now- the Weasley men. "Isn't it funny how nothing changes?"

Fred was looking towards a door leading off the living area, the shadow of George moving across it every now and again. "Nothing changes." He echoed.

George kicked the door of his room open, his arms laden with an assortment of clothing, books, stacks of parchment and toiletries, and his face slowly purpling from the effort. "There you are!" he grunted, flinging his pile unceremoniously down onto the sofa. "Make yourself useful will you, start putting this stuff into boxes or something? Maybe make a cup of tea while you're at it? Thanks. You're an angel."

It seemed as though George were in a desperate hurry; his eyes flitted around the room without really taking in his surroundings, and he kept stumbling over himself in his haste to keep busy. Leanne thought she could see a thin line of blood across his bottom lip, as though he had been clamping his teeth over them to prevent the memories from escaping.

She rifled through the pile, discarding odd socks and broken quills and a tiny, bright blue Puffskein that had obviously turned feral in it's time alone and attempted to bite the tips of her fingers off when she swept it to one side. A slightly moldy packet of biscuits went into the rubbish pile as well, and she was just picking up a navy blue sweater emblazoned with a 'G', stuffed with an old pillow inside it when Fred made a grab through her with his air-light hands- it felt a little like how she imagined an electric shock would feel; an unpleasant, scoldingly hot jolt that prickled her skin all over.

"FRED! Do you mind not… spectrally groping me?"

"That's mine! I might not exactly have a solid body on which to wear it, but you can't go chucking my stuff out as well!"

"Can you read? It's got a 'G' on it you absolute-"

"It was his." George said quietly. He walked smartly back into the room, depositing another load of his assorted belongings on top of the already tottering pile. "We used to swap, to confuse people. It…used to smell like him, a bit… but that went too, after a little while. Nothing lasts… and if he just said I'm more homosexual than Dumbledore's rainbow knitting patterns, you can tell him to bloody well piss off. Where's that tea you were making, eh? Spit spot!"

Treating the tattered jumper with a little more care now, Annie removed the pillow from inside and folded it neatly alongside a set of dark purple dress robes and a vivid green dragon-hide jacket. "What did your last slave die of?" She muttered, contemplating the earlier discarded packet of biscuits before shrugging and taking them to the kitchen. Considering how often she'd nearly poisoned herself with her terrible cooking in the last few weeks, she figured a little bit of aged fondant couldn't do her too much harm.

While the kettle boiled, Annie watched Fred walking slowly around the flat and muttering to himself, touching odd objects or else just staring into space. The place felt like it had been uninhabited for too long; there were still dirty plates and mugs in the sink, so encrusted with mould that Annie had to siphon most of the grime off using magic, but the green and grey cultivations were clearly the only living things that had been in the flat for quite some time.

Selecting one of the less stale biscuits, Annie stuffed it into her mouth and carried the two mugs back into the room. George had resorted to 'Accio'-ing his most essential belongings from the pile and was stuffing them unceremoniously into a large rucksack. "At last! I'm working like a house elf here!"

Annie snorted her skepticism, swallowing the biscuit remnants in her mouth to form a sarcastic reply, but found herself unable to say anything at all as she had, in that moment, transformed into a large, yellow canary.

"I know… I can't breathe…but I….can't… breathe!" Fred panted, laughing so hard that he was supporting himself by leaning on his knees, whilst George was wiping fat tears of laughter from his eyes, roaring with mirth.

Leanne felt that if she hadn't been fluttering wildly around the room chirping incessantly, that she would have been quite touched by this rare display of happiness from both twins. As it was, however, she landed back to earth with a thump, catching her elbow on the mantelpiece as she went.

She felt the eyes of both twins on her as she straightened up, rubbing her bruised arm, the sudden silence speaking volumes. Annie raised one of her hands to brush her hair out of her eyes, before realizing that it wasn't hair that was obscuring her vision at all; but silky, butter-cup yellow feathers.

"Well…that's interesting." Fred said tentatively. "It would appear that the charm we put on the Canary Creams gets stronger the longer they're left…"

"GEORGE WEASLEY, YOU DO SOMETHING TO STOP THIS RIGHT NOW OR I'LL…I'LL…"

"Peck my arms off? Do a whoopsie on the carpet?" George suggested, still grinning, his face shining with rosy health and his recent tears. When Annie merely continued to glare, her chest rising and falling rapidly with panic, however, he opted a sympathetic tone and told her to sit down whilst he found the appropriate spell book.

He came back to her and crouched by her knees, balancing a spell book there whilst he examined the damage. "Ok. So. Feathers still noticeably remaining on the hands…" He picked up one of her downy ones in his large, warm ones, turning it over to examine the palms. "And the face…"

As he reached up to cup her cheeks in his palms, Annie felt the sudden, overwhelming desire to kiss him shoot through her like a mouthful of Firewhisky. His touch was soft and gentle, from this proximity she could see the detail of his blue eyes- they were dark and streaked with silver like a night sky with stars- and they were sitting so close together…all she had to do was lean forwards and brush his lips with her own…

But he moved away again, and the impulse died as quickly as it had come to her. _What the hell was that?_

"Do you trust me, Annie?" George smirked, glancing up from the dog-eared Charms book in his hands.

"I-I.. don't know." She stuttered truthfully, still a little bewildered by her recent surge of passion.

"This _is _the second time I've saved your skin today, I think you should trust me by now."

"Maybe I would, if it wasn't for the fact that in both cases you were the _cause_ of the trouble."

George's smile grew. "Naturally." He pulled out his wand, and Annie eyed it warily as he began to twirl it between his fingers. "I would've thought you'd be pleased that I'm getting back to my trouble-making ways."

Maybe she was pleased for him, Leanne contemplated, while George tapped various places on her face and neck and muttered spells under his breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Fred returning to the photographs on the mantle piece and slipping the one of him and George at the wedding into George's rucksack… So what would happen to Fred if George was getting better? Annie's stomach jolted in a way that had nothing to do with her recently ingested Canary Cream.

And what would happen to _her_ if Fred disappeared for good?

* * *

><p><strong>(Umm.. did I mention that I met the ACTUAL, REAL Weasley twins? Think I did. Cool. So chilled.)<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**** HI. We're back. Sorry for delay. This chapter is the longest so far and also one of the most important- I'm pretty happy with it, and I very rarely say that!- so please, ENJOY and if you do...maybe REVIEW? :) Thanksss x**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8- The tragedy of a one-man show<strong>

If the resulting few days of blissful co-habitation were anything to go by, it seemed as though Annie's presence in the Weasley twins' lives (and deaths) was beginning to improve George's melancholia. The faint whiff of strong spirits didn't linger on his clothing or his breath anymore, and he'd trimmed his hair free of its shagged demeanor. He was still not perhaps the 'picture of good health'- the bags under his eyes betrayed the long nights of sleepless stirring and creaking that Annie often heard emanating from the spare room next door- but it was…better.

George would smile, often laughing at the messages his dead brother passed on through Leanne; the same proper, belly-laughter that had been tapped into after Annie's escapades with the canary creams.

Because that was the other thing! There were times, Annie noted, that George seemed _bored_. Not the listless, stationary monotony of the depressed, but a restless, fidgety kind of boredom which caused him to rock back on the heels of his chair or ruffle his hair and look up at the ceiling with a sigh. It was a good sign. An even better sign that he had expanded his 'Screaming Saucepan' range to include a 'Bawling Bowl' ('Perfect for all of your baking catastrophe needs!') and a 'Collywobble Colander' ('Strain it or he'll screetch!'). In fact, barely 5 days after his official move in, George announced that he was popping back to the shop to help Ron out, "Because Ron wouldn't know 'funny' if it offered to dress up for him in Professor McGonagall's sexiest lingerie".

Leanne clattered around her collection of increasingly vocal kitchenware, humming brightly along to the muggle radio station that perched precariously on top of the fridge next to George's favorite cactus. Perhaps it was the mild improvement to her culinary skills, or the dying rays of orange sun that shone over the bright wintery day, but Annie felt- for the first time in a very _long_ time- content. George was out. George was getting better. Fred was spread out silently on the living room sofa, dozing in his spectral way that wasn't really sleeping but worked in a similar sense and she….

She was happy that they were happy. Because that's how it goes when you're helping people. It seemed close now; that there could be a solution to Fred's predicament, that he could actually go off into Merlin's fluffy white haven and allow George to do the living bit for him. As much as she was attached to Fred in a strange plutonic way, Annie wanted him to move on. It felt so wrong that he was trapped with them, having to see how his death had hurt those around him- an extra burden that a dead man should never have to deal with. No. He had to go.

And Annie would miss him when he did. But there was no way she was letting on about that.

As she chopped onions with an disproportionate amount of glee, her thoughts wandered back to the other matter that had been pressing heavily into her thoughts and leaving wonderful, yet utterly forbidden, images imprinted upon her subconscious mind. It was the memory of that impulse- the one about her and George making some lip-on-lip contact. Despite her best efforts, Leanne just couldn't shake off that same, pulse-thickening feeling when she saw him…fresh out of the shower, for example. Or… reading a newspaper held inches away from his nose… or when his hair stuck up on one side from the way that he tried to comb it down over his missing ear.

These thoughts were irrational and forbidden, Leanne knew. Becoming infatuated with George was not going to help her help _him- _she certainly didn't think that she would make him the kind of happy that Fred needed to move on. It was an unnecessary distraction, born out of loneliness and an inability to behave like a normal human being in most social situations- she was clearly just latching on to the first willy-owning person who would speak to her over a sustained period of time… and that was fine, so long as it didn't get out of hand.

And so long as Fred never found out about it. Ever.

"That smells surprisingly edible." Fred appeared at the doorway, stretching with a grunt and slumping against the doorframe, watching Leanne pottering about the kitchen with that smile of hers. He'd noticed that she was smiling more; and it was a different smile now too, the kind that made the tiniest of dimples appear on one side of her cheek. "And you're actually wearing an apron! Good god. We might make a decent house-wife of you yet."

Leanne feigned flattery, rolling her eyes at her favourite dead man. "Is that a compliment? Fred Weasley, are you actually _complimenting _me?"

"What can I say? I'm a gentleman at heart." He eyed the apron tied around her waist with sudden suspicion. "What's all this for anyway, I thought George was working tonight?"

"He is." Annie said, trying so very hard to keep her tone light and unconcerned and to fight back the blush that wanted to bloom, sickeningly girlishly, over her face. "But I thought…you know. He'll get hungry at some point and it's easier to cook this for two, the recipe is for two anyway…" She was spared further explanation for a few minutes when her saucepan began to whine warningly, it's contents hissing and frothing over the steel top.

Fred waited until the pan had been sufficiently soothed and reassured before pressing the matter further. With an effected air of casual indifference, he walked around the kitchen table with his hands in his pockets and surveyed Leanne from across the room. "So it hasn't got anything to do with your dream last night then?"

"M-my dream last night?" Annie laughed nervously, feigning ignorance. "I don't think I did dream last night… Ooh look, the sausages are nearly done-"

"You were talking in your sleep, so I didn't get the full story, but there was a lot of 'umm'ing and 'ahhing' and then something about a shower, and then-"

Leanne interrupted him quickly. "What were you doing watching me sleep? I know the dead are supposed to 'watch over us' but I don't think you should use it as an excuse for perving."

"Well I've already seen all the 'Friends' videos and 'Fresh Prince of Bel-Air' repeats, there wasn't an awful lot left for me to occupy myself with. But you're avoiding the question- why are _you _having potentially rather erotic dreams about my twin?"

He was smirking, folding his arms in triumph and looking at Annie with an expectant expression… But she would not cave. She would not give him the satisfaction. "I told you to drop all that matchmaking lark! I have absolutely no interest in anyone who looks like _you_."

"I think he's a good-looking boy-"

"In your completely unbiased opinion."

"-And he's nice. He was always the nice twin, I was the more boisterous one."

"Fred, it would just be too weird! It would feel like dating you and as I'm not a necrophilia kind of girl, that really isn't an option." Leanne scraped the contents of her pans into a casserole dish and admired her handiwork for a second. "Anyway, as we've said before, George doesn't need a girl to make him better, he's got to get better by himself."

"_You_ said that. I still reckon he could do with a bit of-"

"AND," Annie sent Fred a warning glare. "That is my last word on the matter; as is the fact that you are henceforth banned from entering my bed chamber when I'm asleep in there, understood?"

Fred huffed something under his breathe that sounded like 'completely unreasonable', and flounced out of the room after her, Leanne cradling the hot dish between her hands as she walked to the fireplace and prepared to floo over to Weasley's Wizard Weezes.

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><p>Spluttering, spitting dry ash and fire from her gums, Leanne stumbled into the living room of the Weasley flat, hitting her head on the low mantelpiece as she stepped out.<p>

"Could you have picked a more difficult floo address, George? I mean, from an advertising point of view I can appreciate the alliterative humor but…" Annie, that moment flicking loose yellow curls from her eyes, drew up short, as the scene in front of her drew back it's ugly curtains and paraded in the half light.

Loud, pumping rock music blared from the radio and the whole room was hot and sticky and perfumed, whilst two figures twisted and writhed in the center of it all, spotlighted by dim lighting. He was there, on his back, on his back on the sofa with his shirt half-off, unbuttoned the whole way through, and there was a girl, a brunette, on the top, perched like an eagle or a crow across his waist, skirt ridden up to the hilt.

There was a crash like a round of applause as the casserole dish slipped from the tips of her fingers and broke itself upon the cold floor. Steam rose around Annie's ankles as though sighing- crying?- as it was released into the suddenly glacial atmosphere.

George looked over when he heard Annie enter and was still looking at her now, his hands cradling the back of his head at it's uncomfortable angle with the settee arm. "Hey Annie. This is Verity. Verity used to work here."

Said girl- Verity, Scarlet, Harlot, whatever her name was- hastily combed her fingers through her shiny hair and re-adjusted her pretty blouse and skirt combination with a slightly abashed smile that still turned out coy in Annie's opinion. "Hello Annie, George told me all about you! It's nice to meet you."

"Nice." Annie echoed, feeling the words reverberate around the hollow auditorium of the room and up from the shadowy backstage that was her by the fireplace. Blood rang in her ears with the poignancy of one hand clapping; it was scalding ice and whistling kettles and rainy days all at once. Fred was saying something to her in hurried murmurs and gestures but she could hardly notice the invisible man when his solid counter-part was so very center stage.

"What was that?" He gestured to the mess at her feet, his expression good-natured but so patronizing- how could Annie have not noticed it before, the pity and the humoring of her…

"Sausage casserole." She muttered, jabbing her wand at the fractured dish and watching it reseal in the same way her mug had, all that time ago. A week was a time now, there was no time now.

Her feet made no sound on the wooden floor as she crossed the room with the empty, but whole, ceramic dish in her hands. She entered the kitchen- another kitchen, why so many kitchens? She didn't belong in a kitchen- and placed it gently on the side of the counter, next to an assortment of strong-smelling bottles that hadn't been there when they cleaned the flat out a few days previously. She picked one up and placed it to her lips, feeling a tiny burning trickle slide across her mouth. Empty. Her breath across the glass top let out a hollow ringing sound to match the hum inside her brain.

She wondered if this was what people called heartbreak. To her, it felt more feral than romantic, like a hungry fox clawing at the insides of her throat. It was wild and snapped it's jaws at the fragile ties that connected her, like puppets and strings and Gods, to the two men she had grown to love in the space of that mysterious two-and-a-bit-week time ago.

Fred was still with her, still talking just _talking _like he always did and for possibly the first time, Leanne hated the fact that he could continue to make the noise, read the script of the living, direct her in this la de da cabaret nightmare that he had engineered.

It dawned on her in a sickening, churning moment of clarity.

"I'm wasting my time."

"Huh?" And it was the solid one, the real one, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe with his shirt still flapping by his arms like a cloak. "You alright? You should've sent an owl if you were coming over."

"I'm wasting my time." Annie repeated, her hands clenching against the sticky and damp work surface, her voice taking strength from the animal at her gullet.

"Well… I'm sorry about the meal but it was you that went and dropped it, you bloody clutz-"

"I had a life, you know, before all of this." She pointed at Fred, who was avoiding watching this rare show of anger, staring resolutely at the floor with his arms clamped around himself. "Before him, before you. I had _plans_- I was going to sign up for Healer training… Or at least, I was if my NEWT results were good. If they weren't, I was going to stay on at Hogwarts and just help Madam Pomfrey out, you know, get a bit more experience whilst I re-took my exams."

Leanne was on a roll now, the words tumbling out before she could even think about them.

"I had a few good friends and a bad boyfriend- a ghastly one- but a boyfriend all the same. I used to be able to go out and talk to people and have _fun_!"

"What are you-"

"But YOU changed all that. I gave it all up to help YOU." And now she was pointing at George and her face was wet and burning and melting all at once. "Because YOU were 'broken' and 'miserable' and couldn't go on without your twin! HA! I thought I could save you BOTH."

George's face was red now, the tops of his cheeks and sides of his neck flushing particularly bright in the harsh, kitchen strip-lights. "Look, I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea-"

"Never mind me! I'm 'Just Leanne'! Who you can lie to about working-" She gestured wildly to the dark and musty room beyond, "-Letting me think I'm actually doing something _worthwhile, _that you were actually getting better. I was HAPPY for you! I was proud of myself! Merlin- I learned to cook for you! I HATE cooking! But no, none of it matters, none of it has made any difference at all."

"You have made a difference!" Fred said imploringly, crossing the room and trying to grab her shoulder, make her see sense, but she turned on him as well.

"Don't you go acting like you care, Fred. You were the one that came back, you did this! You're haunting me- _just because I couldn't save you the first time around_!"

The colour drained from George's face, and he made a strange shuffling sort of step forward. "What did you just say?"

His comment went unnoticed. "You two changed everything without even asking permission first because you decided that your feelings were so much more important than mine- I mean, it's not like I had my own things to worry about, my own scars!"

She lifted the corner of her thick jumper with a fierce expression, and George tried to organize the whirlwind of thoughts that swirled around him like the slowly pitching room. He focused his groggy eyes on the pearly, jagged white line that ran below her belly-button and across her flat, pale white stomach to drift past her hip- a think and ropey curse scar that would never fade. Annie pushed the material away again, covering herself and laughing humorlessly.

"Did you not even think- even consider the possibility- that you weren't the only person to have lost something in that goddamned war George Weasley? We ALL lost something; a loved one, a piece of ourselves, a future- everyone made their sacrifices then and I'm continuing to make them now. And for what? A _shag_! Isn't that what you said he needed, right from the beginning Fred- "a damn good shag"… well, if that really is all it takes then great. I'm done. I'm through with you both."

Annie made to leave and George didn't stop her. If anything, he stood back and let her pass him, watching as she marched past the figure of Verity, curled up like a cat where he'd left her, and towards the front door where she paused and tossed her wild hair as she looked back. There was no anger now, just those tears shining on her cheeks like a pottery glaze. "And Fred… don't follow me. I'm sorry."

Then she was gone.

Fred howled with anger and threw his insubstantial weight against his brother with all the might that his non-existent self could muster. "NO!" He tried to grab the two halves of George's shirt together, pull him back to his senses- didn't he realize that without Annie they couldn't have each other? That he'd have to leave him and watch in the sidelines for good… and then there was that other anger, the stronger one, the one that made him hate his brother for hurting her. "You made her cry, George!" Fred pounded his frail fists against the bare skin of his brothers' chest; George still staring, unseeingly at the empty space by the door where Leanne had just been. "You put this right! NOW, GEORGE!"

And George was contemplating the size of the absence that had always been in his chest, diminished but pulsing still, like something living. Fred lived in that space, filled it up nearly to the brim, but it seemed that his cavernous heart was stretching now, expanding to accommodate Leanne- smiling softly at him, the way she did when she walked into his life in The Leathern Bottle and started making him better.

And Annie was walking. Running, maybe, she didn't know. Blurs that might have been people or shops passed her, ghostly figures through the watery haze of the dam that was busting between her eyelids. It was a crack across her armor, a leak in a lead pipe that she had built and toughened herself around, keeping all the bitter thoughts and old anxieties in. It had been so easy, she realized now, to help Fred when it meant that she didn't have to worry about helping herself. She could forget about it all so long as she was active. But she would be active in other ways now. She would stop keeping herself in a place where dead men walked and talked and haunted her with past mistakes; she would focus instead on the world of the living. Her living. Her life.

She was unsure for how long she had walked before the decision to Apparate home came to her. It might have been hours. The cold December air whipped up a frenzy against her raw skin and she didn't have a coat or gloves or a scarf or a hat, as she'd travelled by floo before. She was still wearing her slippers, for god's sake. This was ridiculous. A bath. Some ice cream. Then in the morning she could pack up and go somewhere new. Maybe Miles would take her back for a few days, just until she found somewhere more permanent… But for now it was to be a bath. Warmth and soapy water were to be her new dearest friends.

However, upon her materialization it seemed that a bath was off the menu of that night's fun activities. Fred, who had been pacing impatiently around the room, ran up to meet her, flinging his ghostly arms around her neck in what was a very insubstantial and slightly chilly hug. He didn't say anything, but Annie knew he didn't have to; his feelings of gratitude and relief were tangible and washed over her in waves.

Over Fred's shoulder, sitting sheepishly with two polystyrene cartons and an unopened bottle of wine in front of him, was George. He watched Leanne with inscrutable eyes, wondering as he did so, how he had failed to see her properly before. She was tall and lithe without seemingly gangly, her pale face and hair- though neither were clean nor 'done up'- seemed almost to take in a light of their own, as did her large grey eyes. She was not exactly beautiful (not yet, anyway) but there was something so undeniably _good _and _kind _about her, and it shone through her skin and her eyes from within.

Leanne stood awkwardly now, freed of Fred's affection, not really knowing where to go from there.

"Are you hungry?" George asked eventually, gesturing to the cartons in front of him.

Leanne didn't feel like she could form a civil answer, so she didn't.

George chewed the side of his lip and ran his hands over his hair distractedly, taking a deep breath before trying again. "I'm sorry. You _know_ I'm sorry."

"Do I?" Annie snorted humorlessly, trying to avoid his gaze.

"Yes. Because I'm not apologizing for what you just saw, I'm apologizing because I've been a shit friend to you, and that is a lot more difficult to admit."

Annie considered his apology for a moment, the sincerity and his honesty finally denting her resolve and numbing her urge to turn on the spot and re-apparate somewhere else. With the smallest of nods, the tiniest of steps, Annie made her way across the room and sat down next to him.

He un-corked the bottle of wine and filled a goblet, passing it to her with a somber expression. This glass she took down in one, and George gently removed the vessel from her hands and filled it again, passing it back.

Fred sat down on her other side, his arm falling down around her shoulders.

"I think you should tell me everything." George said gently, taking a sip from his own goblet and picking up the steaming container in front of him.

"_Us_, everything." Fred added in a hoarse tone.

Annie looked between the identical faces on either side of her- the pale, ghostly one and the solid, intense one- and took a deep breath; before she could think better of it, before her doubts and fears and insecurities could creep in and while the wine kept her warm and fuzzy inside, she began to talk.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry again for lateness of publishing, but I think you'll agree with me when I say this part is pretty EPIC. I hope it's turned out alright... it was definitely a lot of fun to write! Thanks to everyone who has been sticked with this story so far and giving me feedback via. reviews or subscriptions- I'm dedicating this big ball of action and excitement to all of you! So ENJOY and please let me know what you think! :)**

**Chapter 9- **_**2**__**nd**__** May 1998**_

Leanne Merrick was not ready. She never had been the most organized of people, never one to think too much ahead besides the vague outlines and sketches of a sign posted road- Leave Hogwarts, Haler Training, Marriage, Children… She supposed she must have always known that a large dark gate stood between her and that road, a towering monument painted in black and peeling paint with the word 'War' carved into it, over and over in a shaky jagged hand. She stood there now, looking straight through the bars of the grill in front of her, and she saw the future she planned slide further and further away into the dusk and the fog.

The atmosphere that vibrated through the air of the room of requirement could hardly be more different to that of the chilled, swirling fog that Annie stared into. The very air felt alive, the space itself seeming to hold its breath and fill the room with its slowly swelling and pounding heartbeat. There was excited chatter; a small group huddled around two loud red-headed figures, laughing raucously; people squeezed the hands of their friends and the people they loved, smiling; most of the younger students seemed to be in danger of taking flight, they were bouncing so high. It made her nauseous. Dizzy. Outside of her very self.

Walking on stilts of lead and stone, Leanne left her seat by the fire and squeezed through the crowds of excited students, noting the faces of each and every one as she did so. _Not her, not him… stay safe, keep him safe, she lent me a pillow, they were a nice group of people, oh please don't make them fight this… _The leather satchel that had been her school bag for the past seven years was already open and ready, waiting patiently next to her hammock. Seeing it gave her a strange kind of strength.

She checked its contents again and again, quickly, certainly; bandages, potions, powders, a book, bunches of dried herbs, thick wads of cotton wool and tape and splints and a tiny embossed silver case with a needle, thread and tweezers inside- her wand, of course, tucked itself securely against her side.

"A good doctor doesn't mutter incantations over a sore that needs the knife."

Isn't that what her mother had always told her? It was a mantra that Leanne had always associated with her mother's dislike of the paradox of magic and medicine- in a world where a spell can cure sickness in an instant, the only injuries that remain are the ones that are themselves magical- but now she understood the true value of those words. She could mend bones in an instant, stop bleeding in a heartbeat, but if it came to it, if it was life and death, she had to be fearless, ruthless.

Annie moved back into the crowds, her satchel bumping gently against her thigh, again searching out the faces of those there, smiling woodenly back at the people who waved at her, called her name- forcing herself to remember them all as they were before she saw them broken or bloody or…

"Hugo!"

She grabbed the back of the robes of a small dark-haired blur that had attempted to edge around her, his face hidden behind a large wad of tissue paper. His path now blocked, Hugo raised his large brown eyes innocently to meet hers. "Oh… Hi Annie! Did you see Harry Potter? Pretty exciting, huh?"

Prizing his hand away from his face, Annie peered at the oozing, greenish cut that slashed from the side of his nose diagonally down to his jaw. He winced when she peeled away the stray bits of fiber that clung there.

"That little thing? It's nothing Annie honestly, I'm fine, I'm just going to go and-"

"Nice try." She forced him to sit, ignoring his protests, and rummaged in her bag for a muggle-style cleansing solution of her own making. The younger boy jigged up and down impatiently, whining all the while.

"But it's HIS friends Annie! Harry Potter's Army!"

Dabbing a large amount of the purple liquid onto a cotton pad, Annie raised her eyebrows at the boy, feeling a large surge of affection for his freckles and the cheekbones that were just starting to come through the puppy fat of his face. He was too young to fight, Annie knew, but not too young to experience loss.

"So what were you planning to do? Hemorrhage on them?"

"It's something of an 'in-secret'," said a jovial male voice from behind them, "But there really is nothing Harry likes more than being covered in the bodily fluids of his adoring fans." Annie glanced around to see a lanky, red-headed figure with his hands in his pockets, smiling cheekily down at her.

Hugo let out a tiny squeak, his already round eyes expanding to fill half his face, reflecting the image of the newcomer back at her.

"Fred Weasley." The man introduced, dropping Annie a wink and crouching down beside her. "But I'm sure you already know that."

The small boy was suddenly still under Annie's hands as they fussed over the wound that wouldn't stop bleeding, his mouth a small 'O' shape of star-stuck delight. "Y-you're Mister Weasley… as in… Weasley's Wizard Weezes, the joke shop!"

"The very same. My reputation proceeds me, as always." Fred affected a sigh and glanced subversively at the intriguing creature beside him, who was rummaging in a large leather satchel and producing yards of pure-white bandages from within it, tucking her long, pale gold hair behind her ears distractedly as she did so. "And you are?"

She didn't turn back to him, but returned her attention to the boy with the nasty slash across his face, murmuring. "Busy."

Fred tutted and rocked back on his heels. "Now there's no need to be rude, Miss. In the face of our impending doom I think we should allow our true feelings for each other to blossom and grow like a Venomous Tentacular wiggling it's sprouting tentacles in the light of the full moon."

"I'm Hugo, and she's Annie." The boy piped up eagerly, clearly keen to impress. "Mr. Weasley, I've bought all your products, me and my friends managed to disguise one of your edible Whoopie Cushions as bacon and Snape ate it- he couldn't sit down all day without farting, it was the best!"

"Beautiful! My heartiest congratulations." Fred beamed and clapped a clearly delighted Hugo on the shoulder. His expression became serious, however, when he considered the boy's injury again. "It looks like you paid for your trouble though."

"They all do. We all will." Annie said, suddenly fierce. Fred noticed that her hands trembled slightly when she reached up to secure the knot of fabric that now partially obscured Hugo's face. "This isn't even the start of it."

Fred caught her eye and held it there, feeling some of her own passion, her courage, surge through his veins. "Well if we've all got you looking after us Annie, I'm not too worried." He paused for a second, the tiniest of smirks gracing his lips. "Of course, if you fancied donning a nice little Healer costume I would be considerably less not-too-worried and more excited about the whole ordeal, but-"

A high, cold voice cut him off; a voice that sounded like silk moving across the edge of a shard of broken glass, the whisper in the depths of a nightmare. It rang through the sanctuary that Hogwarts had given them, shattering the comfort Leanne took from it's walls and familiar hearths and contaminated the air it slit through.

"…_You have until midnight." _

Pandemonium ensued. With a great roar and lurching surge forwards, the many-headed tidal wave of students rushed towards the door of the room, whooping and brandishing their wands and heading towards the Great Hall.

Hugo leapt up with the others, his face still set underneath its wrappings, and it took Annie several attempts before she managed to cork the bottle of potion in her ever-trembling hands again, small amounts spilling and trickling down the glass sides like tears.

"Hey," Fred was still there. He straightened up slowly, his smile softer now, brushing his fingertips gently across her shoulder. He spoke kindly, but there was burning fire behind his eyes, his obvious excitement for the forthcoming war making Leanne feel all the sicker. "When all of this is over, we'll go out, yeah? You and me. We'll fly over to Paris for an evening and waltz under the Eiffel Tower, and I'll serenade you by the Seine. What do you think?"

Annie shook her head despairingly, but couldn't help but give him a small smile back- his energy and kindness was infectious. "I think your sense of timing leaves an awful lot to be desired."

"That's not a no!" He shrugged, still grinning, and started to move away from her, swept up in the crowd. "I've got to have something worth keeping myself alive for!"

Annie packed her bag once more, slowly, concentrating on controlling her hands and biting back the sharp tang of bile that rose and stung the sides of her throat. She wished she could be braver, but the only thing she felt was the hollow space in her chest where her heart should be; it wasn't exactly fear, but the absence of feeling anything at all scared her enough, at least in theory.

Standing, she allowed her wide grey eyes to take in one final moment of peace before the world was torn apart. The hammocks and banners that had given them all safety these last few months swayed and fluttered in the breeze of the open door, drifting sleepily from side to side in a strangely hypnotizing lullaby of silk and rough cotton. The darkness that gathered outside the windows was all purples and blues; there were no visible stars (not even the sun seemed able to fully penetrate the gloom that hung over them all these days) yet it wasn't an unfriendly sky. The picture in front of her showed nothing of the trials to come.

It was enough. She steeled herself with the image and, taking a deep breath that filled past her lungs and sent pulses of lowing ember through her body, turned her back on the room and hurried to the Great Hall with the others.

Professor McGonagall was already in full flow by the time that Annie slipped through the heavy wooden doors and perched herself at the bottom end of the Ravenclaw table. Again, the atmosphere in the hall was tangible and tasted like hot metal. Across the room, she spotted the flaming hair of the Weasley twins and their associated family members, Harry Potter himself amongst them. She noticed the way the crossed elbows of the identical brothers gently nudged each other on the table-top, the way they glanced surreptitiously out of the corners of their eyes at one another when they didn't think the other would notice.

For a fleeting moment she wondered who might be looking at her that way, with the same care and barely concealed affection, but there was no one, of course. Her Mother was gone; Miles had refused flat out to return to Hogwarts, even in the event of a fight; many of her friends had parents or siblings or other important people to concern themselves with… So it would just be her out there on the battlefield with her satchel.

It was probably better that way. It meant that the only thing she could lose was her life.

In a mass of scraping tables and benches, the hall came to life again. There was panic now, as younger students with silent tears coursing down their cheeks rushed and pushed to get out, whilst the old and the strong sat silently in their places, faces still turned towards McGonagoll. The Professor's face was itself stony and resolute, but with that same peculiar fire she had seen in Fred's eyes earlier- it was true then, what they said about Gryffindor's and their courage. The screaming scarlet of their banner had never seemed more appropriate than now.

Tremors, though only very slightly felt, were already beginning to rock the castle. Time was catching up with them.

Annie drew her wand and joined her fellow students, comrades in arms as they hurried as one back up the grand marble steps of the entrance hall- back towards Ravenclaw tower. In her head she ran over and over not only every single Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that she had ever had, but all of the spells she had taught herself or learned from volunteering with Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing at weekends.

She stopped at the top of the staircase and- ignoring the turn of her stomach at the height of the thing- glanced down from her vantage point to survey the undulating waves of students, pajama clad and fierce, mingling with stone statues and suits of armor and tiny houselves and the pearly figures of the Hogwarts ghosts as they all streamed upwards and outwards as one. The occasional spark or burst pierced the half-light as nervous jitters sent wands awry, each one sending bristles up and down the length of her spine, as the tremors through the floor gradually rose in their pitch and ferocity until they became increasingly difficult to ignore.

Eventually a strange kind of hush fell, as students, teachers and magical creatures alike turned to watch the heavy wooden doors that they had trusted to keep them safe every day and night since the moment Hogwarts was founded.

The thick wood creaked and shook, a small amount of dust wriggling free from the boards and drifting eerily across the crowds, sticking in eyes and throats and hair. A small chink of blue light shone sporadically through the tiny gaps between its nails.

Annie found herself holding her breath. Counting the seconds. The grip on her wand was sticky and her knuckles shone bright white in the gloom. Her spare hand rested on the soft leather of her satchel.

The silence exploded.

Screams rent the air as splinters of wood the size of broadswords hurtled outwards, some set aflame by the force of the bombardment spell cast upon them. Annie attempted to blast them out of the air, or else direct them back at the cloaked and hooded individuals that now flooded into the castle walls, but the damage was largely done. Not ten seconds into the battle, and thick glutinous red liquid was already forming puddles, reflecting the multi-coloured flashes of light that filled and rebounded around the entrance hall as the dueling began.

"Flipendo!"

A man made of black smoke had materialized not 6 feet away from her, but he fell backwards as the force of her spell hit him squarely in the chest, pushing him down the marble staircase. Annie felt the strange thrill of satisfaction as she saw him slide and roll and tumble across the sheer, cold edges that would (hopefully) put him out of action for at least a little while.

Ducking a jet of white sparks that rebounded against the wall behind her, Annie ran along the balcony at a crouch, bee-lining towards a slumped, woozily panting figure in the corner. And so her work began.

For the most part, the injuries she encountered were relatively minor. Broken bones became so frequent that her splint supply was soon greatly depleted- she didn't trust herself using the 'Brackium Emendeo' charm on some of the more complex fractures. There were some awful ones though; a girl who had had all the fingers on her left hand severed, rendering her wand arm nothing more than a useless stump; another girl whose skull was expanding rapidly, stretching and tearing the skin of her face; a boy with foam and pus and blood pouring incessantly from his mouth and nose… Two dead. So far. She did what she could for them. Stopping the girls hand from bleeding, slowing down the rate of growth of the skull, forcing anti-sickness drafts past the foam and the pus and the blood… She did what she could and then left them all, trying desperately not to dwell on their howling and tears.

Annie made her way upwards through the castle, her eyes scanning left and right for the fallen. She avoided dueling where possible- her talents were not in open combat, she would be wasting time when she could be helping those injured- mainly resorting to simply pushing Death Eaters out of her way using the 'Flipendo' spell or stunning them. There was also the risk that one of them might recognize her- one of them might actually be… and she couldn't allow that to happen. No…she was best with her satchel and her soothing words.

She was just approaching the 6th floor when she heard it- well, _felt_ it was the more accurate expression. A deep rumbling boom above that shook her from the inside and caused the bottle of Draught of Peace she had been administering to a hysterically babbling young girl to roll out between her fingertips and smash upon the flagstone floor. Working quickly, Annie resorted to putting the girl into an enchanted sleep and surrounding her with disillusionment charms. She hoped it would be enough… but it was very clear to her that there would be far bigger problems awaiting her upstairs.

Annie took the staircase three at a time, ducking the occasional stunning spell (and worse) that was sent her way, sprinting towards the 7th floor corridor that the explosion had emanated from.

Turning the corner, it was hard to believe the site had ever been a corridor. Piles of rubble 10 feet high teetered and smashed around her as the pillars around the walls crumbled and turned in on themselves. A giant crater ran down the middle of the floor, ripping the place in half and tearing through pipes of various kinds so that the floor was swamped with murky water and the air filled with steaming vapour which mingled with the dust and the debris to make Leanne choke.

Pressing her sleeve over her mouth, she picked her way across the carnage of the floor, passing the figure of a gigantic spider the size of a small car lay on its side in a tangle of legs, twitching horribly. At the corridors end she could make out the distant shape of hunched and moving shapes and it was these she headed towards. It seemed too much to ask that anyone who had been present during the explosion would have escaped unscathed… and she wasn't wrong.

As she drew closer, the flaming red hair of three of the figures became painfully apparent.

Annie rushed up to meet them, forcibly pushing two people aside as she dropped to her knees next to the prone figure, spread-eagled on the floor.

"Go! Leave him with me, you've got to carry on!"

She caught the stricken face of Harry Potter, the clear streaks across the grubby faces of Ron, Hermione and Percy sobbing into his brother's chest.

"HARRY POTTER, GO! NOW!" Leanne glared, and with a faint nod, a resolute expression, Harry and his friends turned from the corridor and fled. Wondering fleetingly if she would ever be able to tell her grandchildren that she had shrieked instructions to THE Harry Potter like some deranged banshee, she returned her attention to Percy, pulling him roughly from his brother and using the very same glare that had just won over Harry. "I can save him Percy, I can, but first you have to trust me. You have to go now. You have to keep fighting."

He blinked thickly back at her behind his horn-rimmed glasses. "B-b-but-"

"He's still alive Percy! And every second you waste arguing with me is a second I could be using to help him. Go!"

Because she had noticed it, the faint (painfully faint, oh desperately faint) rise and fall of Fred Weasley's chest. He was alive, certainly…but for how much longer… Annie couldn't know.

Percy scrambled to his feet and lurched awkwardly after Harry, Ron and Hermione, glancing backwards and tripping over the chunks of stone that littered the space all the while.

Whilst one hand quickly ran over Fred's body, feeling for lumps, fissures, fractures- the usual- her wand hand tapped his forehead lightly as she attempted to revive him.

"Okay… _Renevate… _uh_… Actum Ago…_No? Come on, Fred… _Renevate_…_Haud Somnus…_"

She bent close to his mouth, listening for any tell-tale signs of throat obstruction or wheeze. The wheeze was there- she suspected at least 5 broken ribs- but otherwise his breathing was fine… just faint.

Groping in her bag, she pulled out her strongest energizing solution and, instead of pouring it into his mouth, jabbed the vial roughly up into his right left nostril.

It did the trick. His breath rasped, his eyelids fluttered, he choked back against the strong smell and the discomfort and immediately his face screwed up in pain. He let out a low, rasping moan, clenching his jaw and his eyes shut tight.

Annie smoothed back that vivid hair of his, feeling the dampness of his forehead and the grit and the stone lacing between the softness. "Shhhh, well done Fred, you're doing great. In a second I can give you some pain relief but first I need to know; where are you hurting most?"

"Try bloody everywhere." Fred hissed through his teeth.

"I think you're bleeding internally," Annie said gently, patiently. "And I can help you. If you can't tell me, show me."

He prized upon his eyelids a little, piercing blue slits against the pale green sheen of his face. The tiniest ghost of a smile traced over his cracked lips. "Annie…"

"Yup, that's me. So look, tell me where it hurts and I promise we can go to Paris, yeah?" She was getting desperate now, his consciousness seemed to flagging again and she knew that it was only a matter of minutes before Fred became in incurable danger, even out of the range of magic.

"I knew…y-you'd look after me…" he rasped, still smiling that dazed half-smile. "You're…f-f-fantastic… you are… rem-m-markable…"

"And as ever, your timing is terrible. Fred, please," Annie cupped his cheek and stroked the back of his limp, cold hands. "Tell me where it hurts."

The bright blue of his eyes disappeared again. Cursing, Annie waved her wand across his torso, taking random guesses as to the placement of the ruptures and muttering 'Salveo' again and again. Eventually, Fred's face slackened and the eyes fluttered apart once more.

"Better." He murmured.

"For now. But it's only numbing the pain, I've got to start healing you properly." Annie gingerly pressed her fingers along his sides, trying not to watch as he winced even through the fug of pain relief she had administered. "4 broken ribs- that's better than I thought! Punctured lung, not so good… Fractured pelvis… Swollen and hard stomach- yes, well, that'll be the bleeding from the pelvis, should be easy enough to-"

"_Protego Horribilis_!"

Annie felt the force of the deflective spell ricochet from behind her, Fred's wand hand trembling and dropping with the intense effort that his spell casting had cost him. She whipped around and felt molten lead swirl into her veins and freeze her heart.

Without stopping to think, she was on her feet and pointing her own wand at the grinning, pock-marked face of Augustus Rookwood.

"Hello sweetie." He drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers. "How's the blood traitor doing? I had rather hoped that he'd be squished flat like a pancake but I suppose a slow, painful death could be just as fun…"

The molten lead turned to a lava that whistled through her head and compelled her enough to fight him.

"_Suffocotus!"_

Rookwood deflected the spell lazily. "Try again, sweetie."

"_Suffocotus! Flagrante! Petrificus Totalus!"_

Rookwood was laughing now, a high-pitched giggle of mirth that was sickening an grating upon the ears, perverted and horrific in it's girlishness. "Is that the best you can come up with? I would have expected better of-"

"SUFFOCOTUS!" Annie bellowed, taking advantage of his temporary lapse of conversation to hit him hard with the strangulation charm. He gasped and choked, his fingers clawing at the space around his throat where invisible ropes tightened and squeezed the air out of his windpipe. Falling to one knee, rasping noisily, Rookwood's wand clattered to the floor and Annie took the opportunity to return to her charge.

"Fred, I-"

She shrieked out as blistering, white hot knives ripped through her jumper and t-shirt and into the vulnerable flesh of her stomach. Rookwood was smirking, straightening up again as Annie stared down at the deep black red river which was now flowing steadily over the top of her hands and splashing thickly across the floor. She took a few steps backwards and tripped over Fred's legs, landing hard on her back and the side that was now splitting her diagonally through the middle. Her lips were wet with the taste of her own blood.

Rookwood continued to stare down at her, his thin lips pulled over his yellowing teeth in what was, undeniably, a jubilant smile. "Sleep well, pet." He crooned, dipping the end of his wand in the pool of blood near his feet and examining it in the light. "And what do you know? It _is _more mud than blood." With a final cackle, he turned and ran back down the corridor, already sending spells at his next victim.

Annie's fingers slipped and trembled as she tried to pull herself up, tried to get back to Fred and her satchel. She couldn't see his chest moving anymore, but a thick swirling fog was obscuring her vision and she couldn't be sure of anything. "Fred?...Fred? Can you hear me?"

His lips parted slightly but no words came out. His eyes were closed once more.

"Rener…vate…R….Rene…Renevatate!" Annie's wand slipped between her bloodied fingers and rolled across the floor, too far for her to reach. She was covered in the warmth of her own redness now, her jeans soaked almost to the knees. "Fred…Fred wake…up…stay with me…please..."

Did the world always spin this quickly? Why couldn't she see anymore?

She groped through the darkness, at the same time feeling her head connect with the cold stone behind her. "F…F-Fred…No…Fred…"

And as her consciousness slipped away, leaving her to slowly chill in the growing pool of her own blood, Fred Weasley used the last spark of his energy, the one iota of strength he had left, to twitch his hand sideways…and take her cold, wet fingers in his own.

* * *

><p>"…Next thing, I woke up in St. Mungos with a ruddy great stomach ache and the Weasley spirit himself by my bedside, asking what had taken me so bloody long." Annie finished up the bottle of wine, smacking her lips together and sighing. It had been very easy to be blasé about the whole ordeal when she had a goblet of finest elf-made vino tinto in her hands.<p>

George and his transparent counterpart had stayed silent through the majority of her story telling. He was as Leanne had never seen him; his expression soft. At some point during the narration he had reached out and taken up Annie's hand in his own and that hand was warm and clammy now and squeezed hers tightly.

"I remember." Fred said quietly. "In the room of requirement, I remember you now… your hair was longer…"

"I cut it all off because…you know… the dip-dyed look didn't really work for me. There was a lot of red about." Annie smiled superficially at her best friend. Yes, he was her best friend. She had failed, it was true, but she could make up for it now- that had been her resolution, as soon as she'd stopped screaming at the sight of his dead self by her bedside that fated day in St. Mungos.

"Thank you." George said, suddenly. "For looking after him. For finding me…for telling us your story. You're a lot braver than I gave you credit for."

Cautiously, as if he might break her, he released his grip on her hand and placed his hand across the scar that stretched almost from one of her hips to the other, hidden beneath layers of thick wool. "Does it still hurt?"

Leanne shrugged. "Not really. The occasional twinge, maybe… It was more a strength thing than anything else. I struggled to even get up a flight of stairs in the first few months… that's why we had to wait so long before I came to find you. Fred was out of his mind with boredom."

"What are you doing for Christmas?" George asked, his eyes flicking intently to Annie's own.

"Oh…uh…" Leanne was thrown by the abrupt and wildly contrasting change of subject. Hadn't she just spent the last few hours talking about war? "Staying here… playing secret Santa with Fred? I didn't really give it too much thought, why?"

George took a deep breath. "Because I want you to meet our family. I want them to meet the incredible, courageous girl who made Fred's last minutes a little more bearable." He blinked and Annie saw, for the first time, that he was crying. Not the watery eyes he sometimes hid behind his hands, but open, fat tears that slid soundlessly across his freckled cheeks. "I can't thank you enough, Annie. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry."

And now she found that she was once again comforting him, that their arms were wrapped around each other as each gave themselves over to the combined powers of grief and relief at finally being able to show it. Annie pulled his head to her shoulder and cried upon his neck in turn. They stayed like that until Annie fell asleep and George- his mind still turning over and over the image of the girl on the stretcher next to Fred in the Great Hall- the girl with the golden hair and the white, blood-stained face that had, at the time, seemed so insignificant- eventually drifted into a slumber.

**(...It's all coming together now, yes? ;) )**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello! Firstly, masses of thankyou's and stupidly big smiles and excited jumpings up and downings to everyone who reviewed, favourited or subscribed to this story after the last chapter- your positive response has been a source of endless encouragement and I am very chuffed and grateful to anyone who took the time to get involved with my very small contribution to my favourite magical world.**

** Secondly, ****I am so so so sorry about the lateness of my updating. I promise that I write this story whenever I can- which usually means from around midnight til 3am (so if there are any errors here...that'll be why!)- but I've got a lot going on at the moment and I'm fitting my commitment to Leanne, Fred and George around my studies and getting stupidly drunk and dancing in strange dark rooms. But I can tell you all 100% that I completely intend to finish this story...so no matter how long the gap between updates, I assure you that there will ALWAYS be updates. **

**SO all that aside, here is chapter 10. A bit fluffy, a bit filler-ish, but after all the excitement of the last part I figured we could all do with a bit of light relief before the next onslaught of emotional trauma hits! ENJOY and as ever, I'd love to know what you think :) x**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 10- Let in light and I'll banish shade<strong>

"Fred, you're doing it again."

"What?"

"Your looking-at-me-whilst-trying-to-do-a-poo-in-the-middle-of-an-arithmancy-exam thing."

It was Christmas Eve. Snowfall from the previous day still coated the small village of Ottery St Catchpole in thick drifts, the occasional flurry stirring through the air and tangling itself in the clothing of passing travelers. Leanne's prediction of a Christmas that was about as 'festive and jolly as Voldemort in a Santa hat' could not have been further from the mark- she would be spending Christmas with a family, not her family, but still A family, and her two best friends. Fred and George and Leanne- them against the world.

Because that's how things were now. Since the night of 'the great reveal' there had been no snide comments about cooking (mainly because George had done most of it and he was surprisingly good), no bitterness and no bickering. George didn't go back to work, but stayed in with Annie and helped around the flat more; together they'd managed to make the place half-livable, crammed to bursting point with photographs and mementos from their combined pasts. It was homely now. Jovial. They were a bizarre and compatible, unlikely but enigmatic 2 and-a-half-some…

Except… Fred.

Fred wasn't quite himself. He became withdrawn and subdued and often went out walking on his own for hours on end. He rarely cracked jokes and wore a constant pensive expression, often (as he was now) drifting into a weird trance were he sat and stared at Leanne in silence, his lips pursed- It seemed to Annie that the more his twin recovered and started living again, the deader Fred seemed…and it scared her senseless.

That afternoon, George had gone into Exeter city on 'secret business', so Fred and Leanne were having some rare alone time… only, Fred didn't seem to be enjoying it so much as enduring it.

"I'm just thinking." Fred said, still with same expression on his face; the one that was midway between revelation and constipation. His wide and washed-out eyes followed her around the small room as she sent festoons of paper chains flying from the tip of her wand, a vacant half-smile playing around her mouth.

"Yeah?"

"About the moment I died."

Leanne turned to him with a vaguely familiar mischievous smile that Fred could have sworn she'd picked up from George. "Wow, you're really getting into the Christmas 'Spirit', eh?"

"No look, this is no time for dead puns, I'm being serious!" Fred fidgeted agitatedly, rocking backwards and forwards slightly whilst sitting on his hands. He dropped his gaze to the coffee table, as Annie walked slowly across to sit next to him, her mischievous expression fading to concern. She doubted whether Fred had ever been serious in his life- let alone his death.

"Go on then." She murmured, nudging him with her elbow.

It came out in a rush.

"Since the other day, when you said all that stuff… I dunno. I've been having these flashbacks, remembering it all again. Like, I remember the last time I saw George and I remember the fighting and the…the smell of the battle- that hot metal and dust smell- and I remember you with your long hair and that little boy. I remember you helping me."

Annie's frown was more pronounced now. "But I thought you knew all that already, isn't that why you were by my bedside in St. Mungos in the first place?"

He shook his head slowly, still afraid to look at her. He wondered if those eyes of hers- the silver ones that were the only eyes in the world for him- would look straight through to whatever semblance of heart he had inside his ghostly casing and see the reason there, scrawled in his own untidy handwriting and garish pink ink.

"What then?" Leanne prompted as the silence threatened to stretch into oblivion.

"I… See the thing is- well, the thing about you and me going to Paris was-"

"Annie?"

The front door banged open to reveal a windswept and snow-freckled George Weasley, cradling several large carrier bags to his chest and stumbling slightly under their combined weights.

"Close your eyes!" He demanded, as Annie turned to face him- turning her back on the unhappy, identical face that sat beside her.

Fred pressed his lips shut as the opportunity of the moment floated out of the open door on a snow flurry that even he, in his eternally chilled state, felt the frost of. He watched Annie dutifully press her hands over her eyes with an excited giggle, saw his brother wrestle the bags into the spare bedroom that he now occupied- looking through him to see her- and wondered (not for the first time) whether he really could be dead after all. He certainly felt absent from the warm reds and golds and greens and cinnamon smell that he'd always associated with a time of happiness.

With a few well-practiced flicks of his wand and a small 'pop'ping sound, George's diminutive but grand Christmas tree appeared in the corner of the room, adorned with bright baubles and magical icicles and real-fairy lights. A fire leapt into the grate under the hearth, where three stockings now hung- two thickly striped in red and gold, one a rich blue laced with silver. George checked that Leanne still had her eyes covered before finishing the whole thing off with the traditional stunned gnome in a tutu, which he stuck roughly on the tree's top branch, muffling it's squeals with his hand.

"TA-DA!" George announced, removing his scarf with a flourish as Annie uncovered her eyes. He beamed at her look of astonishment, which turned to excitement and then fluidly into gratitude.

"Oh… George!" She sprung up from the sofa and flung her arms around his still damp and slightly frozen neck, hugging him tightly. There had been a lot more of these moments; small touches, playful moments of contact that had somehow come to be both innocently friendly and strangely intimate- like holding hands with your first crush under a desk at school so that the teacher can't see.

Fred got up too. He was looking at the identical red and gold stockings that hung either side of the blue one, spotting the small 'F' which twirled on the toe of the one on the left-hand side. So maybe he wasn't entirely absent after all… just separate- Invisible and intangible as always.

George stepped out of the hug, affecting a modest tone. "I know, I know, I'm practically good ol' Saint Nick himself."

"Yeah, well…Carry on the way you do and you'll get the belly to match, too." Annie teased, poking him through the hideous dark green Dragon hide jacket of which he was so fond- but which Leanne was hoping to burn, bury or hide at the soonest possible opportunity.

"I'm just training you up- you wait till Mum meets you tomorrow," He put on a shocked face and a high pitched squeal which was a startling good imitation of his Mother's most anxious tone, "But my dear, you're skinnier than a brace of Veela in a trouser press!"

Annie snorted and went to sit back on the sofa before George stopped her.

"What are you flapping around for?" He demanded indignantly, "Get your coat!"

"Wh-"

"LEANNE MERRICK! When I say get your coat, you will get your coat! You have precisely-" He the large silver and gold watch at his wrist. "-38 seconds before our departure."

Grumbling something about ginger wigs and tight underpants, Annie kicked off her slippers in favor of some wellington boots and pulled on a thick duffle coat and gloves. She was fastening the toggles of her coat when she spotted him again. She almost jumped- she'd completely forgotten about Fred standing there, slightly transparent against the fire blazing in the grate.

"You coming, Fred?"

George glanced towards the corner that Leanne indicated but said nothing. Fred was looking at his brother now, watching the way that he smiled at _his _girl, the way he wasn't so keen on hearing what his deceased brother had to say anymore…

Fred shook his head and sat cross-legged by the fire, staring into the flames.

Leanne advanced slowly across the carpet towards him, her scarf suspended between her hands, forgotten. "Fred?"

"Have fun." His tone was hollow and hoarse. He didn't turn to face her. "George always was good with surprises."

"But why-"

"Annie? Come on!" George was by the door again, holding it open for her with his signature mischievous smile in place.

Leanne glanced behind her, feeling torn. "Fred, are you sure you-"

Fred whipped around, his expression fierce. "Bloody hell Annie, what are you waiting for? Go and have yourself some jolly good Christmas cheer and an evening of well-mannered youthful frivolity before I spook you out of the door myself!"

There was a beat were she still seemed concerned, but then the frown lines between her eyebrows smoothed and her face broke into her wide and dimpled smile- it was like the bright yellow of an egg yolk splitting from its grey shell.

She bent and planted a quick and sloppy kiss on his barely-there cheek. "We'll be back soon. Just make sure you're in bed nice and early or Father Christmas won't bring you any presents!"

"Yeah," Fred said softly, as silence fell and the gust from the slamming door caused the fire in front of him to flutter precariously on the verge of extinction. "Yeah, I'll make sure the kids are in bed… all 6 of them. I'll read the girls a bedtime story while you have a bath, yeah? And then we'll have a glass of brandy together on the sofa before we start setting everything up. Yes, yes, the Turkey's out and waiting on the side- who do you think I am woman? Us Weasley's have had Christmas down for centuries…"

He caught sight of himself, a shadowy reflection across the dancing flame surface of the framed photographs and stopped his game. There was no use playing out that fantasy life now.

Fred stared back into the flames and hoped that the others really would get back soon.

* * *

><p>George and Leanne stepped into the frigid early evening air together, still maintaining that respectable 'friendship' distance apart from one another but allowing a little leeway for huddling as they passed through the cheerfully lit gingerbread village that Annie now firmly regarded as 'home'.<p>

"So where are we going?" Annie asked, smiling at another young couple that passed them with raucous cries of 'Merry Christmas!' and many slaps on the back.

"Not far." George replied enigmatically, skipping a few paces ahead and humming what sounded an awful lot like 'Feed the World/ Do They Know It's Christmas?' under his breath. (Annie had been playing Christmas album tapes constantly over the last few days, he was bound to pick them up eventually.)

Fortunately, Leanne's long legs were more than equipped to keep up with his lengthy strides, and soon they were outside the brightly lit town square and fairy light strung trees and onto a country lane. They walked in companionable silence, Annie savoring the moment of peace- although she had to admit; things had been a lot quieter since Fred started having his funny turns.

"Are you excited? About Christmas, I mean." Leanne asked quickly, not wanting to dwell on her worries about Fred when the night was so beautiful.

George shrugged, hopping easily over the wooden sty in their path. "I suppose. It'll be nice to have the family together again… weird 'cause obviously it won't be the same, but nice… and of course I'm happy that you'll be there- You think I'm joking, but Mum nearly passed out with barely suppressed shock and pure joy when I told her I was bringing a girl round." He held out his hand to help Leanne over, which she dutifully accepted. "I think she thinks we're a bit of an item, so don't worry if she starts dropping hints about her Goblin-made tiara."

"And you didn't bother correcting her on that fact because…?" Leanne swung her leg over the wooden gate, stumbling slightly on her landing and grabbing hold of George's lapels for support.

He grinned down at her, dropping a wink and resting his hands gently on her sides. "Because you never know… and also because I thought any other alternative besides the truth was woefully inadequate and 'My Savior' is just too poet-y and romantic for my taste."

Leanne broke the moment by laughing and pulling away. They carried on walking, arm in arm now, their steps in sync.

"As long as you don't expect me to act up to it or anything ridiculous like that."

"Of course not! … Although, you _could_ try and refrain from holding lengthy conversations with thin air. I'm quite used to your…uh…_quirks_ now, but I think to an outsider you'd look decidedly weird. Plus…well… I wouldn't go mentioning Fred, generally. It'll be tragic and weepy enough as it is. " George finished awkwardly, raising his free arm to scratch the hole where his ear used to be.

Annie nodded. "I think Fred feels it too, y'know. He misses you all terribly, I can tell."

"Really?" George's tone dropped so that it was almost a hushed whisper, their footsteps slowing. "I still find it hard. Sometimes. Believing that he really did come back for me- I'm not saying that I don't believe you," He added quickly, as Annie's expression darkened, "I know he _is _there, and I'm so grateful that I can chat and muck around with him when you're there, I just… I wish I could see him for myself. Knowing for certain that he came back would top a million Christmases. And Birthdays. And I'll throw Easters in too for good measure."

"Easter? Really?"

"Oh yeah. You've never had one of Molly Weasley's incredibly massive chocolate fudge toffee chewy centre delights. They're incredible. And massive. And did I mention chewy _and_ delightful?" He pulled up short and wrapped his large, gloved hands over her eyes, making her squeak. "Right, nearly there! We're just going down here for a little bit okay? Left step, right step, that's the ticket…"

Annie stumbled around noisily, feeling the slight decline of a hill and branches snapping heavily under her sliding feet. "If you make me break my neck on Christmas Eve George Weasley, I swear- I will jinx you until you are reduced to the mentality of an underfed flobberworm… Not that that's all that far off…"

"Keep those peepers shut!" George said warningly, pulling them to a halt as the ground leveled out. "Okay… one, two, three…"

He lifted his hands slowly to reveal a scene more perfect than any Christmas card picture Annie could ever remember seeing- and her Mother used to get a lot. It was better, even, than the decorations of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, though no where near as grand… It was better because it was theirs, undeniably and completely.

Enchanted snow fell on a small patch of ground bordering a lake, which had frozen solid in the recent weather and formed a smooth white mirror of brilliance stretching outward from their position on it's bank. By Leanne's feet was a small picnic blanket, adorned with bells and mistletoe and almost completely covered in food and a large pitcher of deep red, lightly steaming mulled wine, whilst a jar of pearl blue flames danced at the centre of it all, illuminating-

"Oh no. No, no, no. Did you not just hear me say that if I broke my neck tonight you would be Hagrid's latest pet?"

George wiggled the ice skates tantalizingly in front of her. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure? You know you want to really."

Leanne eyed the shoes with intense distrust. "Unfortunately, us Ravenclaw's aren't really ones for adventure. We tend to think about things logically, like the fact that skating on a lake is dangerous and could result in pain, intense pain or death."

George tutted. "I'm not going to let you die. Just trust me. I'll even let you hold my hand if you're that worried, even though you're a girl and so do have lurgies."

"And give your mother more reason to dust down her Goblin-made tiara? I don't think so…"

After further pouting from George and a small but well rehearsed guilt trip, Annie conceded to put the skates on and- clutching George's arm as though her life depended on it- the pair ventured out onto the lake. True to his word, George caught her every time she stumbled, putting himself at great risk as she flung her limbs outward with free abandon, and they carried on in this manner- laughing, sliding, and in Annie's case, screaming, well into the night.

As midnight struck on Christmas Day morning, Annie collapsed in a heap at the waters edge and pulled the skates off, her cheeks rosy and raw both with the exhaustion of the exercise and the ever dropping temperatures of their surroundings. She poured herself a glass of mulled wine as George took the opportunity to show off, doing mad twirls and ballet-inspired jumps that mainly resulted in him landing on his backside and swearing profusely.

And Annie was laughing from the very bottom of her heart, which was warmed with spiced wine and the freshness of true company. As she drunk deeply and smiled at the flitting shape of George out on the ice, the last thing on her mind was the ghostly figure back in the darkening flat that sat with his head against the fireplace, his ears pricked and unnecessary breath held as he waited for the sound of her return.


End file.
